


Miles To Go

by myrna123



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-03-23
Updated: 1998-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 79,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrna123/pseuds/myrna123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a sequel to Promises To Keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Disclaimer: This story is in no way affiliated with UPN or Pet Fly Productions. The characters are their property, and this story is not meant to infringe upon their copyrights. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part one 

Blair Sandburg had been crinkling the flyer in his hands for a good five minutes, but his partner refused to look up from the report he was writing. "It says here that registration for the Captain's Exam closes out at the end of the week," Blair said.

"Mm," was Jim Ellison's reply. He looked down at the keyboard, then up at the screen. F5 to continue or press ALT, SHIFT, END to close. _Jesus, you need three hands to work this stupid program..._

"Captain James Ellison... Captain Ellison of the Cascade PD... Morning, Captain Ellison. Hey Cap'n, how's it going! Attention Captain James Ellison...Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Blair tried again.

Jim sat back in his chair and gave Blair a discerning glare. "Sandburg, when I speak do you hear actual words or just some sort of indecipherable buzzing noise?"

Blair smirked at his partner. "Look, Jim, all I'm saying is..."

"No, I'm curious here, Chief. It can't be words, because you would have heard me at least _one_ of the hundred and seventy five times I said I wasn't interested in trying for Captain."

"Jim, man, come on. You're great at what you do, but there are all kinds of ways for you to defend the tribe. And at a way higher pay scale too."

Jim grimaced in annoyance, although part of him, as always, was pleased at his lover's career counseling. Jim liked it when Blair's attention was focused solely on him, and he was of the opinion that it happened far too infrequently. Sandburg had a tendency to spread himself too thin and if something had to give, it was usually Jim. Or so he whined.

"If money were the main objective here..." Jim started to say.

"I know, I know, you would have joined your father's business and been a tight ass wheeler-dealer instead of becoming a tight ass cop."

Jim pointed a threatening finger at Blair. "Just because I won't pummel you here in the bullpen doesn't mean I won't do it when we get home."

Blair's grin widened. He suddenly rapped his knuckles on Jim's desk and leaned in close to the detective. "Hear that, Jim? That's forty, and it's knocking on the door, babe."

"Oh, man, you are a little fucker," Jim said in a low voice. "I'll have you know I have the body of a 25 year old."

Blair licked his lips and said wickedly, "Yeah, you fuck it senseless every night then give it back to me."

"You are so dead," Jim said as he pretended to study the reports on his desk.

"The day's fast approaching when you won't be able to catch me, Old Man," Blair taunted.

"Cruisin' for a bruisin,' Sandburg," Jim muttered back.

"See there? As a captain, you'll be able to cultivate new and improved ways to back up your threats with more than just brute strength..."

"Like I could compete with you," Jim scoffed. "I'll stick to being the mindless muscle, thanks."

"You're a natural leader," Blair pointed out. "You're already one of the most respected officers on the force. You're certainly one of the most decorated. This is the next logical step, Big Guy."

Jim knew it was virtually impossible to pull off his feigned disinterest when he was flushing so hotly with pleasure, but he still gave it a shot. "Logic has _nothing_ to do with being the captain of a squad," he said knowingly. "Besides, I can't very well defend the tribe if I'm sitting behind a desk."

"You'll be a different kind of captain," Blair said confidently. "We'll make new rules for you."

Jim felt another flush of pleasure and inwardly rolled his eyes at himself. Some tough cop he was, melting into a pool of Jell-O over the kid's faith in him. _You are so far gone, Ellison...The shore is **completely** out of sight..._

"Well we'd better just wait 'til you've got tenure, Professor, because we both know I'll be out on my ass the minute I'm forced to swallow some bureaucratic bullshit. Simon's the politician around here, not me."

"You'd be great," Blair said in a low voice, meant only for Jim.

The detective felt his insides quiver at the words. "You always make me wish I was the man you think I am," Jim said with a rueful shake of his head.

Still using that quiet voice, Blair looked deep into his Sentinel's eyes. "I wish you'd see yourself as the man I know you are."

"How many times have I warned you about unfair foreplay at the office?" Jim growled under his breath.

Blair laughed, eyes dancing with mischief. "Well, I've got a meeting at the university, Big Guy. That gives you the afternoon to think up a suitable punishment." Jim smirked at that as Blair slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Hey, play your cards right, and I'll make you a fancy sit-down dinner tonight."

"Better make it worth your while," Jim said seriously. "It's the last time you'll be doin' it for awhile."

Blair knit his brows. "What? Making dinner?"

It was Jim's turn to look mischievous. "No, Babe," he leaned in to whisper. "Sitting down."

* * *

Heading for the door to the loft, Jim grinned at the aroma wafting from the kitchen. Blair wasn't kidding about a fancy dinner, Jim thought in satisfaction. He opened the door and smiled again. Blair had gone all out. The table was set with the good dishes, candles flickered around the loft. A jazz CD played softly in the background.

Jim hung up his coat then kissed Blair's upturned face. "Is all this for me?" Jim asked, inordinately pleased at the effort. He held Blair close and felt the rumble of laughter in the smaller man's chest.

"For my one and only," Blair said cheerfully, his tone setting off alarm bells in Jim's head. He was either apologizing for something he'd already done or something he was going to do.

"Aw, jeez, what?" Jim groaned, when he noticed the homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on the counter. Desserts meant he really, _really_ wasn't going to like this.

Blair was laughing, shaking his head in exasperation at being known so well. "I am, like, way too predictable here! Man of mystery I am not."

"Come on, Sandburg, spill it," Jim ordered. "Dreading this through dinner will kill my digestion, so let's just get it out in the open."

Blair checked the stew simmering on the stove, turning the heat down to low, then leaned against the kitchen counter. "Okay, Bob Pfeiffer called me into his office to tell me that Kate Winslow is pregnant."

Jim lifted a curious eyebrow at his lover. "What, he wants you to take a paternity test or something?"

Blair smirked. "Funny, Jim. No, see, Kate was going to take a group of first year grad students to the Amazon rain forest for a five week intro to field research rotation..."

Jim nodded, his comprehension. "Ah, so Pfeiffer had to ask some other prof to take the kids and he wants you to take over their classes until they get back? That won't be so bad, Chief. I'm getting pretty good with my senses. I can survive five weeks on my own."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Blair readily agreed. "Only Pfeiffer doesn't want me to take over anyone's class, he wants me to make the trip."

Jim stared around the kitchen, a confused look clouding his features. "So, what's the deal here? Did he fire you when you refused? He can't do that, Blair! I mean, you have a perfectly good reason not to..."

"Jim, I didn't refuse," Blair said. "I told him I'd go."

Jim flinched in surprise, then stared wide-eyed in disbelief at his partner. "Well you're going to feel pretty foolish tomorrow when you tell him you won't," he said calmly.

"Not a problem," Blair said, just as calmly. "Because I'm not telling him that."

"Yes, you are," Jim said dismissively. "You know you can't go off to some jungle, Blair. Jesus, sometimes you act like you're twelve years old."

"No, sometimes you _treat_ me like I'm twelve," Blair clarified. 

"You are _not_ going to the rain forest, Blair," Jim said in his best "case closed" voice. He headed upstairs to change his clothes.

Blair followed him. "Why is it that if you don't like what I'm about to do, you suddenly think I'm asking your permission to do it?"

"Why is it you're always about to do something stupid?" Jim asked, pulling his sweater over his head.

Blair's mouth fell open. "So you're saying what I do, what I _am_ is stupid?!"

Jim took off his pants and tossed them in the laundry pile. "You know that's not what I meant!" he replied. "What's stupid is a guy who's only been in remission for a few months thinking he can lead some jungle expedition!"

Blair's eyes flashed eagerly--the consummate debater given concrete facts to dispute. "It's been six months, and I already cleared it with McVey. And this is hardly an _expedition,_ Jim. It's like Anthropology 101 in the field."

"It's too dangerous," Jim said, trying to stay calm and reasonable. Still, he slammed the dresser shut with more force than necessary. "Blair, you're not a hundred percent yet. You still get so tired, and you're more susceptible to colds and..."

"McVey said it was fine. I'll get a blood test and full physical right before I leave and another one right when I get back. I'm still right on schedule with the check-ups, Jim. Jeez, I'm actually a week early!" 

"For _McVey's_ check-ups," Jim emphasized.

Blair had blood tests and a physical every six weeks, but Jim wasn't comfortable with the time lapse between doctor's visits and insisted on carrying out his own examination every week. It only took fifteen minutes or so--just a quick check under Blair's arm and at his groin to see if Jim could sense tumors at either lymph node site.

Blair ignored Jim's implied point. "Look, we're in a completely settled site--more modern and up-to-date than the precinct for pete's sake!"

"No!" Jim barked. "God, Sandburg, I can't believe you're even considering this! We both just started sleeping through the night..."

Blair surged forward, eyes pleading with his lover. "Jim, _please_ try to understand. I need this trip! I didn't even know how much until Bob offered it! I need to do this again! To be out there!"

"You don't need _this_ trip!" Jim said stubbornly. "There'll be others..."

"How can you be so sure?" Blair asked quietly. "Jim, what if I don't get another chance? What if the next time something like this comes along, I'm too sick to go?"

Jim whirled around and glared at the younger man. "You're not going to get sick again!"

"You don't know that," Blair replied, his sadness not for the uncertainty, but for the anguish it caused his lover. "Look, no one knows how much time they have left, Jim. But for some of us that idea hits a little closer to home. This remission could be gone tomorrow..."

"Then how can you even _think_ of leaving me for five weeks?" Jim cried, finally losing some of the control he was struggling to maintain.

Blair sighed and moved in to try to calm Jim with his touch, but the big detective pushed away his outstretched hand. "Jim, we need this, man, both of us."

"I don't need to be apart from you!" Jim angrily replied, turning and jogging down the stairs.

"Yes, you do," Blair said gently, following behind. "Man, you clutch every time I sneeze! I catch a cold and you're ready to call 911! For cripes sake, I step out on the balcony when it's below 70 degrees and your jaw starts twitching like I'm walking across a high wire!"

"So I worry a little," Jim said, then amended his words at Blair's dramatic posture of disbelief. 'Okay, okay, so I worry a lot. You don't have to go traipsing off to the Amazon just to get me to lay off."

"You think you're responsible for keeping me well," Blair said, continuing before Jim could voice his disagreement. "It's like you're terrified that if you drop your guard it's going to come back for that reason alone. Like...as long as you stay vigilant, stand guard over me, you can fight it back. It's a beautiful sentiment, man, but dangerous, you know? Because if it does come back--" Blair held up a hand against Jim's reflexive denial of such a fate. "I said _if,_ then you're going to spiral down in this major guilt-fest, and take me with you. We just need to get some perspective here, okay? You need to learn that you can't control this remission. I love you for trying, man, but..."

"I remember when you were sick," Jim said softly. "I remember how helpless I was, how...how little I had to offer you." Now it was Jim's turn to stave off Blair's denial. "You know what I mean...how little effect I had on your being cured. I remember how that felt Blair, but even so there's this part of me that honestly believes I can keep you well. I know it's crazy, but..."

"Life with a control freak," Blair said with a comic sigh. "You need to remember that I can take care of myself, Big Guy," Blair said. Jim finally let him run a comforting hand up and down his arm. "Hell, Jim, _I_ need to remember it. If I keep letting you take care of me, I'll forget how to take care of myself."

"That wouldn't be so bad," Jim said, drawing Blair into his arms. 

He felt Blair smile against his chest. "You say that now. The first time I'm too selfish to give you a head rub after a bad day, you'll rethink the idea."

"Never," Jim promised, kissing the top of Blair's head and running his hand up and down his back. Jim sighed and tightened his hold. "Please don't go, Baby," he whispered. "Don't do this, okay?"

Jim knew the words were fruitless, that all they would do was make Blair feel guilty. But maybe, for once, the guilt would work, would make Blair acquiesce for just once. Why couldn't he see reason? He'd only been in remission for six short months. He wouldn't be considered 'cured' until he'd been clear of cancer for five years. Five years. God, it felt like a lifetime sometimes. 

_And now he's thinking of taking off for the Amazon?!_ Jim thought angrily. _His immune system is still weak, and **he** thinks nothing of immersing himself in some germ infested jungle!_

Blair had almost died from complications of the lymphoma, a fact the grad student had already conveniently forgotten, but one Jim never would. Sometimes when he looked at his lover, he still saw him as he was during the worst of it--barely more than a walking skeleton, eyes sunken, looking bruised from pain and fatigue, skin gray and lifeless. Jim shuddered and forced the picture from his mind. 

Blair kissed Jim's chest through his T-shirt. "You need to let yourself off the hook," he said in a low voice. "A few weeks apart, Big Guy, a few weeks of me on my own, and I swear to you, everything will be back in the proper focus." 

Jim wondered why Blair's "case closed" voice was so much more effective than his own. Shoulders sagging in defeat, he sighed, vaguely disturbed that he had so little backbone when it came to Blair. Was there anything important enough to him to stand his ground against the younger man? Sure Blair capitulated on hundreds of everyday kind of decisions, but all the really big ones fell his way, and they both knew it. Maybe that was by design-- picking and choosing his battles, giving in to Jim on subjects like neatness and leftovers, so he could stand firm on things like jungle expeditions.

* * *

The loft was quiet for the rest of the night. After dinner, Jim cleaned the kitchen while Blair got to work planning his trip. It was a companionable silence, though--no animosity. But Jim was still worried. 

He'd nearly gone off the deep end when Blair was sick. Nearly. Well, that was being generous. He'd pretty much flipped out, going so far as to steal an illegal serum, manufactured from the bone marrow of murder victims. God, it sounded so ghoulish when he thought about it now, but at the time, he hadn't felt an ounce of compunction over what he'd done, at least, not until Blair called him on it. His lover had been horrified and then enraged when he learned Jim was planning on giving him the serum without his knowledge. Remembering it now, Jim thought it seemed more like a hazily recalled dream--certainly not something that had actually happened. Blair managed to forgive him. Managed wasn't even the right word. Blair had effortlessly forgiven him, as if Jim's betrayal was nothing but an inconsequential slip.

Looking up from the sink, Jim snuck a guilty peek at his lover, hunched over the laptop in barely contained glee. Blair believed that Jim had destroyed the serum, but it was in a hermetically sealed pouch taped to the underside of a drawer in the refrigerator. Jim tried to shake off the guilty feeling. He was certain he would never use the serum without Blair's full knowledge and cooperation. Relatively certain. 

Oh hell, maybe he was nothing more than an alcoholic with a comforting bottle of whisky tucked away for safekeeping.

Jim ran the dish cloth over the counter one last time, then wrung it out and folded it over the divide in the sink.

>From the couch, Blair looked up at Jim, a smile that was almost sympathetic softening his features. Jim knelt down in front of him and took one of his hands. Jim brought it to his lips and nuzzled the thin, gold band Blair wore. Jim didn't wear one, even though at one time, he had told Blair he would. He had promised it to Blair when he was very sick, promised it in the place of something Blair really wanted--an assurance of relief--of _release_ \--should the cancer, or more accurately, the treatment become more than Blair could stand. Jim couldn't give his lover what he had really needed, so instead, he had offered the promise of a public commitment if only Blair would stick with him and continue to endure the unendurable. 

After Blair went into remission, he relentlessly tortured Jim about that promise, pretending to plan an outrageously extravagant gala, which turned out to be a surprise party for Jim's 39th birthday. 

Blair really pulled that one off, Jim thought fondly. He had talked endlessly about the supposed "commitment" ceremony, inundating Jim with decisions about hors d'oeuvres and entrees and music and guest lists. He was certainly more into it than Carolyn had ever been--hell, the two of them had settled for a justice of the peace. Jim watched with growing trepidation as Blair's list of invitees grew larger and larger, encompassing almost the entire police department. Their relationship was still a pretty closely guarded secret. Simon knew, of course, and Joel Taggart. Brown and Ryf. A couple of the cops in Vice with whom Jim was still close, but it wasn't exactly common knowledge. Blair told a stunned silent Jim they would keep quiet about it until everybody arrived expecting a party and found themselves at a wedding instead.

And when Blair wasn't going on about the guests, he was harping on Jim to write his vows and decide which piece of music he was going to dance to with his new husband. Jim was working on an all-out panic attack that would give Blair a run for his money, certain he couldn't go through with the public extravaganza, but at a loss as to how to tell Blair.

A few weeks before the ceremony, Jim and Blair drove to a party house to check out its suitability for their gala, Jim secretly hoping they'd waited too long to reserve the place. Seeing the parking lot crowded with cars, Jim tried to get Blair to call off their impromptu visit.

"No way, man," Blair replied. "Looks like a hopping party!"

"What, you mean to crash this thing?" Jim asked, as if Blair had just revealed his diabolical plan for taking over the world.

"Crash, shmash!" Blair pshawed. "A stranger is just a friend you haven't met."

"I'll remind you of that when we're both standing in a cell at the county jail," Jim muttered, following behind the younger man. 

Blair pushed the door open, and Jim immediately noticed that the lights were out. Aw shit, just their luck, they came upon the one party in Cascade being held hostage by thugs. The detective reached around back for his gun just as the lights burst on and a deafening cry of "Surprise!" went up through the room.

It took a good two minutes. Jim stood there, stunned, confused, then slowly things started making sense. The guest list he'd grudgingly approved was milling about in the flesh. The hors d'oeuvres, the band, the drinks, the food...everything they'd talked about the last month, excluding the table full of birthday presents, was right there.

Jim slowly turned his head to Blair and leveled his most evil glare at the exalted younger man. With a comic, "Yikes!" Blair took off toward the other end of the hall, Jim setting off after him, only to be restrained by Simon and Joel Taggart.

"Your ass is mine, Sandburg!" he shouted, dramatically straining to get out of the hold. The room shook with laughter.

>From across the room, Blair grinned broadly as he turned around and said sotto voice to his Sentinel, "That's one promise you're going to keep, Big Guy." 

They partied late into the night--or rather, early into the next morning. And for several hours after that once they got home. After crashing for a few hours, then wolfing down a cholesterol laden breakfast, Jim finally turned to Blair and said, "Are you mad?"

Blair laughed and shook his head. "Once you got me up off the bathroom floor, I kind of figured the deal was nixed."

Jim winced. "I'm not very good at keeping my promises, am I?" he sighed, looking out the window.

"You keep the important ones just fine," Blair said. "Listen Jim, dancing around the room in front of a bunch of people, standing up and committing in front of them--those are...adolescent kind of fantasies--hardly realistic, especially for a cop."

"Don't make excuses for me," Jim said, as a heavy sense of guilt slumped his shoulders.

Blair laughed and pulled Jim down on the couch with him. "Hey, you're talking to the guy who promised to be out of your hair after five days. Remember me?"

Jim smiled in spite of himself. "Vaguely," he said, stretching his long frame out on the couch, head settling into Blair's lap.

Blair kissed his forehead and began to massage his scalp. "Look, I understand what you were feeling then as my lover and now as a cop. And hey, the world's changing by the minute. Who knows what might be possible next year or the year after that or the year after that?"

"So then why this whole charade?" Jim asked, thoroughly confused.

Blair pointedly lifted a brow at his lover. "Just because I understand, doesn't mean you can waltz through life promising me something when we're in deep shit, and then renege when everything's back to normal. Think of this as a warning, Big Guy. Then next time maybe I _won't_ be so understanding."

And a few weeks after that, Jim sprang his own surprise on Blair. In the solitude and serenity of the loft, Jim privately, but no less devotedly, entrusted himself to Blair. He danced with him to song after song, each one painstakingly chosen for the sentiment expressed, then teasingly got down on one knee and asked for Blair's hand. Flushing with pleasure, Blair had given it to him, and Jim slid the ring on his finger, and promised all the things a man promises at a time like that--to love and honor, to worship with his body and with his soul, to forsake all others and keep Blair only unto him. And Blair returned that promise and later told Jim that making the vow just between the two of them meant more to him than any public display ever could.

Remembering that special night, Jim rose and went over to the CD, putting in a disc, then programming in the songs he wanted to play.

The first few strains of music wafted through the loft, and Blair flushed, sinking into his shoulders as if a chill had run up his back. Jim held out his hand, and when Blair took it, he gently pulled him to a standing position and welcomed him into his arms.

We could dance under the moonlight Hug and kiss all through the night, Oh baby, tell me Do you wanna dance with me, baby?

"I'm forgiven, huh?" Blair whispered as they swayed to the music.

"Nothing to forgive," Jim said, kissing the top of Blair's head. "I'm not mad, just..."

"Crazy?" Blair helpfully offered.

Jim pulled away long enough to smirk at his smart ass lover. Then he sighed and cast his eyes heavenward. It was pretty close to the truth. "Certifiable, Baby," he agreed and found it didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought it would.

* * *

[Two Weeks Later]

Blair craned his neck to make sure he had counted all of the students. "Now you'll see why we're here two hours early," he muttered to Jim. Standing up, Blair lifted his arm to garner everyone's attention. "Guys! Hey guys!" he called. "All right, now look. When I said one bag weighing no more than 25 pounds, apparently you heard me saying _two_ bags weighing 50 pounds each. Now I, for one, do not intend to go down in the Amazon rain forest because you all couldn't live without hair gel for a few weeks." Moans and groans from the students. Jim couldn't help grinning. "Yeah, yeah, save it, guys! The airport has been kind enough to provide us a room right over there with lockers _and_ a scale. I want you all to repack the _essential_ items on your list, store the crap, then weigh your bag and make sure it's not an ounce over 25 pounds." More groans. "Get to it!" Blair called over them.

He grinned and flashed his eyebrows at Jim before sitting down next to him. 

Every once in awhile, a student--always female--came out to ask Blair his opinion on one item or another. One student, a beautiful blond who looked like she was more suited for a runway than a rain forest--came out four separate times. Jim smirked after her. "What the hell does she think that's for?" he asked, pointing to the ring on Blair's finger. Blair grinned at his jealous lover.

"Not a sign that I belong to the hulking cop, that's for sure," he laughed.

Jim grimaced. "I get five weeks of Simon and the rest of the guys at the station and you get five weeks of Susie Co-Ed. How is that fair?"

Blair nodded toward a tall, skinny kid with short hair and coke bottle glasses. "Don't worry, man. Susie Co-Ed will come walking off the return flight hand-in-hand with that guy." He turned and saw a shorter young man with bright red hair and freckles. Blair smiled. "Or maybe that one." At Jim's snort of disbelief, Blair shrugged and said, "Research teams are a sub-group all their own, man. Half the kids will pair up before the plane lands in Brazil."

"Just as long as none of them get any ideas about playing Teacher's Pet," Jim growled, and surprised Blair by leaning over and kissing him hard on the mouth. Even though no one else was waiting for the flight, enough of Blair's students saw the kiss. It would only take a few minutes for the rest of the group to hear about it.

Blair's grin managed to be both teasing and knowing when Jim pulled away. "Man, I'm going to jet off to the jungles more often."

Jim slipped his fingers through Blair's and squeezed his hand. "Not without me you're not," he said. 

Blair was looking down at their clasped hands and shaking his head. "Would you really come with me some time?"

Jim gave him a lascivious grin. "Baby, I come with you all the time," he said. He leaned in close and whispered in Blair's ear. "And sometimes I come before you, and sometimes I come after you, and sometimes, when I'm really, _really_ lucky, I come inside you." He kissed Blair's temple and audaciously ran his tongue around the tip of his ear.

Blair made a face and pulled away from his lover. "Would you, Jim?" he asked seriously. "Come along on one of these research trips? Take a leave of absence from the force, close up the loft...."

Jim shook his head, but not at Blair's question. "Aw, Jesus, Chief, I don't think there's anything I _won't_ do for you. Just get me the number of someone who can water the plants, and I'm back in the jungle."

"You're just saying that because I'm leaving," Blair said. "It's easy to be so generous when you know the TV remote is yours for the next five weeks."

"Mmm, five whole weeks without a nature show...We'll put the Discovery Channel out of business."

Blair laughed and nudged Jim's shoulder with his own. "I'm more worried about the condom and lube industries myself," he teased cruelly.

Jim moaned. "Oh man, Sandburg. I oughta drag you to the men's room and make you pay for that!"

"Wanna?" Blair asked, eyes suddenly bright.

"Sandburg," Jim said, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, what happened to 'nothing you won't do for me?'"

Jim couldn't help grinning at his lover. "You know, I try to express this nice, romantic sentiment, and right away you're twisting it into something sick."

"Now I'm sick and twisted? You didn't think so this morning, did you?" Blair taunted.

"Twisted would have been fairly accurate," Jim said. They both started laughing, and after it petered out, they shared secret smiles with each other.

The terminal gradually filled with other passengers. The students, packs safely within the specified weight range, milled about, talking and laughing excitedly. Twice, Blair told Jim he didn't have to stick around. The noise was kind of annoying, but Jim shrugged and shook his head. He liked watching Blair with his students. Blair was 'the kid' around the precinct, so Jim always got a kick out of seeing him in the role of teacher. Almost everyone, big and small, old and young, responded to Blair, but kids in particular appreciated his easygoing manner and genuine interest in their thoughts and ideas.

When the final boarding call was announced, Blair reluctantly stood up. Jim heard his throat catch and it surprised the younger man. "Jeez," Blair whispered, turning to look at Jim with wide eyes. "Man, I'm going to _miss_ you!" he said, as if the idea had just occurred to him. Knowing Sandburg, it had. He hugged Jim tightly, eyes squeezed shut. Jim held him just as tight, nearly oblivious to the crowd around them.

"I'll miss you, too," Jim whispered in Blair's ear. "I love you, Chief."

"Me too you," Blair said softly.

Jim stepped back. "All right, then, if you're going, go," he said gruffly.

Blair grinned and backed away, watching Jim over his shoulder as he went.

"Be safe," Jim ordered. "You get kidnapped, Sandburg, and I'll hunt you down like a dog!"

Jim could hear Blair laughing all the way to his seat.

Jim stayed in the terminal and watched the plane until it was out of sight. Considering his Sentinel eyes, that was a considerable amount of time. Then he sighed, feeling lost and aimless for the first time in roughly two years. He looked around, then slowly made his way to the truck. He could call Simon and some of the guys. Go out to dinner maybe. Something high fat and very much a no-no in the Sandburg Book of Healthy Eating. Catch a flick. Hang out at O'Roarke's.

Jim swung the truck out on the highway and shook his head. _Nah, too much trouble,_ he thought. He'd just stay in tonight, enjoy the quiet. Hell, if he was lucky, the Discovery Channel would be playing a nature show.

* * *

[Three Weeks Later]

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I didn't think I'd miss Jim so much. I've been thinking that the dependence thing was more habit than actual need. Now I'm not so sure. I haven't slept through the night since we got here. I keep waking up and panicking because Jim's not here beside me. I never even relied on Naomi the way I have on Jim. Sometimes I can't decide if I've never really loved anyone before or if the way I love Jim is just so colossally off the map that it eclipses every other emotion I've ever had. He'd love to read that. Well, it's 3 am, Big Guy, I'm not all that coherent right now, so don't let it go to your head. 

Man, do I miss you!

* * *

[Two Weeks Later]

Jim was bouncing on his heels in a perfect imitation of Blair. He found himself grinning when Susie Co-Ed walked off the plane holding the redhead's hand. _Damn that kid knew what he was talking about,_ Jim thought, shaking his head. Jim sighed as passenger after passenger debarked. Jesus, knowing Blair he was probably engaged in some research on the peculiar characteristics of a subgroup of flight attendants.

Sure enough, Blair was the last passenger off the plane, talking animatedly with one of the flight attendants. At the first sight of him, Jim's heart jumped in his chest, and a huge smile lit his face. "Blair!" he shouted, surging forward.

Blair's head shot toward the sound of his name, and an answering smile burst forth. "Hey!" he called and took off toward Jim, jumping into his outstretched arms with a shout of laughter. He wrapped his arms around Jim as the taller man swung him around and around. "Oh man!" he breathed into Jim's neck. "I missed you so much! God, I missed you!"

"You're home!" Jim sighed, holding the back of Blair's head, pressing the younger man's face to him. Finally he pulled away and set Blair down. He squinted at his lover and said in a gruff voice, "All right, all right, let me get a look at you!" He gave him a long once-over. The group had spent the night in a hotel in Rio De Janeiro, so Blair was clean-shaven. His hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears. He'd lost some weight, but looked tan and healthy. "Mmm, pretty as ever," Jim said approvingly.

"Pretty," Blair snorted at the adjective. He gave Jim a good look, reaching out to rub the rock hard stomach. "Good boy," Blair praised. "I see you managed to avoid the intoxication of fast food."

Jim laughed and swung his arm over Blair's shoulder. He picked up Blair's pack and headed for the parking lot. "Guess I shouldn't tell you I just added an hour to my work-out, should I?"

"Am I going to have to do a cholesterol count on you?" Blair asked.

"Is that what you _want_ to do when we get home?" Jim retorted.

When Blair gave a pretense of thinking it over, Jim tightened the arm around his shoulder. "I am so glad you're home!" Jim said, smiling down at Blair. 

Blair beamed as he stared up at Jim, the stoic older man for once making no effort to mask the look of joy on his face.

Once in the truck, Jim slammed the door shut, but instead of revving the engine, he just turned, leaning against the door, and stared at Blair. "Longest five weeks of my life, Chief," he said, slowly shaking his head. "I missed you."

Jim could feel the warmth wafting from his lover, who looked over at him and graced him with a look of absolute love and contentment. "Can't be anywhere near as much as I missed you," Blair said in a low voice. He reached out and laced his fingers through Jim's. "I've never felt like that before," he said wondrously. "It was...it was awesome, Jim!"

Jim laughed and gathered Blair into his arms, hugging him as tightly as he could. "I'm so glad you're home, Baby. I can't wait to show you how glad I am!" Jim growled and kissed Blair hard on the mouth.

"Homeward, James!" Blair ordered with a twinkle in his eye. "Post haste!"

In no time, they were home, Blair's gear stowed, dirty clothes churning in the washing machine, and the two of them relaxing in the oversized tub. A few well placed candles offered dusky light as they slowly encouraged their bodies to get reacquainted.

They had welcomed one another home quickly and explosively when the door to the loft first slammed shut, clothes strewn everywhere, grunts and groans and licks and kisses the only sounds to be heard. Once those base needs were sated, they could concentrate on a more sensual reunion.

The water in the tub was so hot, steam wafted lazily toward the ceiling. They faced one another, knees over hips, close enough to rub their cocks together.

Blair spoke with his face inches from Jim; his voice hushed at the intimacy. "God, Jim, it was so weird. I've always convinced myself that wherever I am is where I'm supposed to be, know what I mean?"

Jim grinned fondly at his lover and stole a kiss. "Sandburg, it frightens me to say this, but yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

"But man, this was like...weird! I missed our bed and driving to work together and telling you about my day and calling you in the middle of the day for no reason and fighting about whose turn it is to cook and trying to get you to read some book I just finished and wrestling over the TV remote...I didn't just miss you Jim, I missed our _life._ That's never happened to me before. My life has always been wherever I am...I've never left half of it behind when I had to go."

His heart thundering with pleasure, Jim smoothed the hair away from Blair's face and brought it close for a slow, deep kiss. He wrapped his legs even more tightly around the smaller man. 

"Does this mean I don't have to worry about a wanderlust taking hold of you?"

Blair smiled and shrugged. "It means when it does you can bet your ass I'm coming back."

"I can live with that," Jim said softly. He hugged Blair tightly, holding his head to his shoulder and refusing to let go for a long time. 

They couldn't keep their hands off each other that evening, as if needing the contact to reassure themselves the reunion was real. They remained side by side as Blair switched clothes from washer to dryer, as Jim paid for the pizza and dished it out onto plates, as they ate, as they washed up...as they made their way upstairs.

Blair flopped down on the bed, spread his arms and sighed luxuriously. "Ahhh, bed!"

Jim stripped quickly and loomed over his lover. "All the conveniences of home, huh?"

Blair opened his eyes and licked his lips at the sight of Jim's arousal. "Mmm, I'm not sure I'd call that a convenience," he teased.

"Surely you're not suggesting it's an _inconvenience_ ," Jim said, watching Blair wiggle out of his boxers.

Blair grinned. "No way, man. And don't call me Shirley."

Laughing in spite of himself, Jim launched himself at Blair with a growl. He could feel Blair laughing with him as he rolled over and ended up with Blair on top of him. "I missed you, Shirley," he said, hugging his lover in strong arms.

Blair sighed, his eyes still dancing with laughter. "I missed you too."

Jim pet Blair's hair, smiling at the curly tendrils as they wrapped themselves around his fingers. "I'll deny it if you ever call me on this, but you were right, you know."

"I know," Blair agreed, then grinned. "About what?"

Jim snorted his amusement. "About needing the space. Needing to gain some perspective. I was nuts the first two weeks you were gone. I couldn't do anything with myself, you know?"

"Boy do I!" Blair agreed. "I've _never_ been able to do anything with you!"

With a smirk, Jim pinched Blair's ass and shivered when Blair jumped and yelped, driving his erection against Jim's. "I was going crazy not knowing how you were doing, if you needed me...Not even _if_ really. I was convinced you needed me and wouldn't be able to function without me there."

Blair's eyes suddenly softened. He laid down, head tucked up under Jim's chin. "It was harder than I thought it would be," he admitted softly. 

"I'm sitting there at work and I'm thinking maybe you won't remember to drink enough fluids, maybe you're getting dehydrated, maybe you're pushing yourself too hard and you'll be out on some trail, too tired to find your way back to camp..."

Blair smiled and kissed the smooth chest beneath him. "Mmm, I love you," he said lazily.

Jim hugged him briefly and kissed the top of his head. "And you know me--grouching around when I've got something on my mind. So Brown asks me what the big deal is, like, can't we go a few weeks without it and all this, so, trying to be the open, honest guy you're always going on about, I _try_ to share my feelings and I tell him how you're out there with no one to look after you, and..."

"Oh, man, no way!" Blair said, with a laugh. "You did not say that!"

"No, I said it," Jim admitted. "So Brown just about busts a gut laughing, and he shouts over to Ryf, "Get this, buddy! Ellison is worried about _Sandburg_ not having someone to look out for him!" So now Ryf's laughing, and Simon comes out of his office, with that eyebrow of his arching up and Joel is in tow, and he joins the party. And Simon looks at me and says, 'It's not Sandburg who needs looking after. Hell, Jim, with him out of the country, I had to assign somebody just to make sure you've got sense enough to get your ass out of the rain!' And naturally, the room goes crazy. You know, I'm starting to think I'm not a very subtle man."

Blair laughed until Jim took advantage of his open mouth and slipped his tongue inside it. He rolled over, sighing when Blair purred, deep in his throat. "I think the key is that we need each other, you know? Like, it's the same amount of need; not weighted towards either one of us."

"I love you," Jim whispered, gently undulating against Blair. "Love, need, want. All of it, Baby."

"It's all yours," Blair replied, shifting to his side, silently offering and asking.

Jim groaned. "Oh yeah, lover." He slid one well oiled finger inside Blair's anus, then a second, then a third. "You're so tight," he huffed in Blair's ear. "Too long without me inside you, lover. Too long."

"Hurry," Blair moaned. "I need you so bad, Jim. Oh God, so bad!" Blair bucked against Jim as he inserted that third finger, his shout of surprise making Jim's cock twitch.

Jim slid inside his pliant lover. Slowly, slowly pushing inward, he groaned against the tightness and the heat that surrounded his cock. "I missed you," Jim whispered, beginning a continuous litany as he steadily took more and more of Blair. "You're all there is of me, Blair. God, I love you. Unh, oh yeah, that's it. So tight inside you, so hot. Oh yeah, I'm part of you now. I make you whole, Baby. Feel me make you whole."

"Yes," Blair whispered, so lost in the sensation he was barely capable of forming the simple word. He tried to move but was held completely immobile by Jim's large frame. For once the big man was not holding back; was not aware of his bulk in contrast to Blair's smaller body. Firmly pushing the rest of the way inside, Jim came to rest against the softness of Blair's ass.

"This is home, Baby," Jim thrummed in Blair's ear. "This is where you belong; where we both belong--this one moment of connection, that's what it's all about, that's what it all means. Now tell me you're mine. Tell me your soul belongs to me."

"It's always only ever yours, Jim."

Jim sunk his teeth into Blair's shoulder and gave a quick shove. "I missed you so bad, Baby...Rubbed myself raw in this bed thinking of you, dreaming of you, waiting for you..."

"Uuungh, I'm here!" Blair moaned, bucking in an ineffectual attempt to get Jim to start moving. "Oh God, I'm here... I'm here."

"I missed your ass," Jim whispered, lightly bouncing and grinning wickedly at Blair's stifled groan. "Missed your hot, tight ass, closing around my dick, missed taking you so hard you shove a pillow in your mouth to keep the neighbors from hearing you scream...missed watching you walk around slow and sore, and knowing your ass was throbbing at the memory of me inside you...missed taking what's mine..."

"So take it!" Blair cried, pushing himself off the bed, forcing the motion Jim withheld.

With a muffled roar, Jim answered with a mighty thrust of his own, laughing with the delighted pleasure of a starving man let loose at a banquet. "Oh Christ, what you do to me!" Jim gasped as Blair shoved himself backward each time Jim moved forward. 

"God, I love you, I love you!" Blair moaned, tossing his head back and forth, stunned and excited by Jim's wanton enthusiasm. "Take more!" he cried, lifting his hips in reply to Jim's powerful thrusts. "Oh God, I want you to take it all."

Jim groaned, his arousal taking on an almost physical presence in the room. "It's all mine, lover. You're all mine. Oh Christ, you feel so good. Give it to me, give it all to me."

"It's yours, it's yours, it's yours," Blair panted in time to Jim's lunges, no longer possessing the strength to answer those vigorous surges.

Jim's warning cry started low, and as he emptied himself inside his lover, he threw his head back and bellowed at the joy of his release. He waited until he was completely soft before he withdrew from the haven of his lover.

They ended up lying on their backs, sweating, panting, and staring at the ceiling. "Shit!" Jim breathed in disbelief. "Jesus, you okay, Blair?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing!" Blair replied. "That was wild, man!"

Jim grinned, the muscles needed just about the only ones on his body not aching at the moment. "Kinda surprised you there, didn't I?"

"Whoowee, Big Guy! Must be that extra hour you tacked on to your workout, huh?"

They both laughed, groaning in unison when Jim pushed himself over onto his side, drew Blair close and spooned up against his back. "I love you," Jim whispered. "So much I don't know what to do with it. Scares me sometimes."

Blair settled himself against Jim's solid chest. "Not me, Big Guy," he said drowsily. He snuggled his ass to Jim's softened penis. "Feels great from here."

Jim smiled, pressing his lips against the warm flesh of Blair's neck. "I'll let you fly again, but not for awhile, okay? You stick close to me for now, all right?"

"Mmmm," Blair muttered, his voice thick with pleasure. "Like you could get me to go."

* * *

[Three Months Later]

"Sandburg, would you hurry up?" Jim grumbled. "I'm starving!"

Stripped down to his boxers, Blair walked downstairs carrying his jeans and a sweater. "All right, already," he said, tossing his clothes on the couch. "Zeno's doesn't even open until 6:30. There's no rush."

"That's the Sandburg Motto if ever I heard one," Jim griped, walking over with a bag of potato chips in his hands.

Blair snatched the bag from him. "Jeez, it's like living with a ten year old," Blair said, putting the chips back in the cabinet. "Don't want to spoil your dinner, Jimmy. And if you're really good and clean your plate, you can have some dessert."

Jim smirked and pulled Blair close to him, licking his lips in anticipation. "Mmm, something extra sweet," he said, sinking his teeth into Blair's neck.

Blair laughed as he pushed Jim off him. "Come on then. You're the one who wants to get this show on the road." 

Blair stepped back, and lifted his left arm straight in the air. He bent it at the elbow, his hand resting behind his head. Jim's face schooled itself into a look of deep concentration. He put one hand on Blair's shoulder, then brushed his sensitive fingertips down Blair's side. Blair shivered at the coolness of Jim's touch, but said nothing. Applying only slight pressure, Jim ran his hand from the underside of Blair's arm, following in a line down his armpit and the length of his chest, all the way to Blair's waist. 

Jim knew only a split second before Blair did.

His Sentinel fingertips slid up Blair's side, taking one more pass under his arm. Jim's hand froze and his breath caught in his throat, the quiet hitching sound suddenly reverberating in the silent loft. His eyes, wide with shock and terror, met Blair's, and Jim made a sound like he'd been kicked in the gut.

Jerking away from Jim's hand, Blair stepped backward, looking as if Jim had just slapped him. "No!" he said angrily. "No!"

Jim found himself struggling to breathe. His knees felt like rubber, the room swam in front of him. "Blair, I..." he started to say, moving forward to take him in his arms.

Blair cried out, a strained, wild sound, like a frightened animal, and backed fearfully away. "No!" he shouted. "No! I said no! I said no!"

Jim tried again. "Blair, I need to..."

"You don't need to do anything!" Blair yelled, walking on jerky legs over to the couch. Shaking violently, he put his clothes back on. His shoulders were hunched, and he was blinking rapidly, as if some deafening sound was echoing in his ears. 

Jim advanced toward him feeling like he was walking through quicksand. Funny that his limbs couldn't seem to take direction from his brain anymore. He touched Blair's shoulder. "Blair, please, don't..."

"Get away from me!" Blair shouted, whirling around and stumbling backward. "Don't touch me! Don't you touch me!" He made a couple of steps toward his old bed room before grabbing his head at his temples and doubling over as if in pain. A bellow of despair escaped him. "Oh God, no, no! No! Do you hear me? NO!" Head back, fists clenched at his side, Blair shouted at the first deity that came to mind. "Don't do this to me! Don't do this!"

Jim couldn't make himself stop trying to make contact. He tried to embrace Blair from behind, whispering, "It's okay, it's okay," even though it was a lie.

"Get off me!" Blair cried, shoving Jim away. "I'm not doing this again, do you hear me?" he shouted, waving his finger at Jim. "I already did this! I don't have to do it again! I won't!"

"Blair, just let me..."

"No!" Blair shouted, backing away. "I said, no!"

He turned and bolted for his study, once his old bedroom. He slammed the door shut and locked it. For a split second, Jim was terrified that Blair might do something self-destructive, but that was so unlike Blair, he immediately shook it off. Besides, he could piggy back his sight with his hearing and he knew for a fact that Blair was crouched on the floor, in the far corner of the room. Arms wrapped around his knees, he was slowly rocking back and forth and shaking his head no.

* * *

Jim felt like he stood there for hours before he could coax his brain into working order. He called Blair's doctor and explained what he'd felt. He made an eight a.m. appointment, then left a message on Simon's voicemail telling him he'd be in late. He fixed himself a sandwich and ate half of it before feeling like he was going to puke and tossing it in the garbage. He stood at the doors of the balcony and stared out at the bay for a long time, listening to the panicked rhythm of his lover's heart echoing in their otherwise silent home.

At some point, Jim climbed the stairs to the loft and went to bed. He laid there quietly and remembered his own reaction the first time Blair was diagnosed. He'd waited until Jim got home to tell him, and Jim had acted with typical Ellison charm. "Jesus Christ, Sandburg, can't you do anything right?" he yelled. "I send you for a simple check up and this is what you come back with? Christ, I'll make an appointment and take you myself..."

Blair gently broke into Jim's diatribe and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down," he said, an order, not a suggestion. "Brad gave me a ton of information we need to sift through to help us decide where we go from here..."

"We're not going _anywhere_!" Jim snapped, wondering how a man as educated as Blair could be so fucking stupid. "It's a mistake!" Jim had insisted, flinching away from Blair's outstretched hand. "It happens all the time in these labs. They mix up blood samples or- or-or there's a spot on an x-ray from-from faulty equipment. They're just...they're just wrong!"

"Then they made the mistake over and over again," Blair said wryly. "They gave me five blood tests and took a biopsy of the tumor. They're not wrong."

"This is so like you, Sandburg," Jim had fumed. "You're so fucking passive! Believe whatever anyone tells you, don't bother to verify anything, just take them at face value. God dammit, why do I have to do _everything_ around here?!"

Jim had shouted for close to an hour, lambasting Blair for his ineptitude and carelessness in accepting such an obviously ludicrous diagnosis. And Blair had calmly and compassionately waited for reality to hit and when it did and Jim fell to his knees in terror, Blair was right there, holding him close and whispering his promise that everything would work out, everything would be okay.

The memory shamed Jim still.

And now it was happening again, but for some reason he was the rational one this time. For now. With a shudder of revulsion, Jim remembered the emotional turmoil of Blair's first round with the disease. Was he strong enough to go through this again? Was Blair? Jesus, forget emotional strength, could Blair physically cope with this? His body had barely recovered; Jim still thought him too skinny, and he tired with far more frequency than he ever had before. He'd almost died before. Blair had almost died, and when he first got sick he was a damn sight stronger than he was now.

Oh God, how were they going to do this again?

_And since we're talking, God, do you mind telling me **why** we're doing it again?_

* * *

It was close to two in the morning before Jim heard Blair wearily climbing the steps up to the bedroom. Jim turned over on his side and hitched up on an elbow. 

Blair sighed, then slowly stripped out of his clothes. "Sorry I flipped," he said tiredly.

Jim shrugged vaguely and made room for Blair. "We have an eight o'clock appointment with Brad."

Blair nodded then sat down on the edge of the bed, turned away from Jim. Jim reached up and ran his hand up and down Blair's back, infinitely relieved that he could touch Blair without the younger man shoving him away. Blair was his anchor emotionally _and_ physically, the need for contact almost pathological.

Head down, Blair's shoulders started to shake. "I'm sorry!" he whispered. "I let you down! I'm sorry, man!"

Shocked, Jim quickly sat up and moved to take Blair in his arms. "No," he said firmly. "We're not going to start this. We don't even know anything for sure. You've never let me down. Not for an instance. Never."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Blair whispered, clutching Jim as tightly as he could.

Jim rocked him gently, kissing his head and whispering comfort into his ear.

"I'm so scared!" Blair said when he calmed enough to speak.

"I know, Baby, I am too."

Blair shook his head. "No, man, you don't understand. I don't think I can do this again, Jim. I mean, I really don't think I can."

Jim didn't say anything for a minute, he just continued to gently rock with Blair in his arms. "It'll be different this time," he finally said. " _I'll_ be different. I'll help you. I'll be strong for you."

Blair chuckled unexpectedly. "I'm the strong one," he said, a private little joke between the two of them.

"We'll do everything your way," Jim whispered in his ear. "Anything you want, Baby. I won't push my will on you for a second, I swear."

"You gonna give up breathing while you're at it?" Blair asked wryly.

"I mean it!" Jim insisted.

Blair gave another shaky laugh and nuzzled into Jim's hold. "It's a little early to start making promises you can't keep," he said and lessened the sting of his words with a sweet kiss to Jim's cheek. "I don't even think I want you to keep it. Aw, jeez, Jim! I don't think I can do this!"

"Maybe together we can," Jim tentatively ventured. "Maybe if we work together instead of...instead of on our own, maybe then you'll be able to do it."

Blair's breath suddenly caught in his throat and a shudder rocked him. "I should have worked harder on my dissertation!" he said suddenly. "Oh God, what if I don't finish it, Jim? What if I don't finish it?" 

Jim rocked him and whispered soothingly, "You'll finish it, Baby. I'll help you. You'll finish it..." And to himself, Jim thought _You'll finish it. If I have to chisel it on stone and defend the crazy thing myself, you're going to finish it._

"I'm sorry," Blair said. "You probably never would've come near me if you knew loving me would be so hard."

Jim laughed out loud at the very idea. "Blair, loving you is the easiest, most effortless thing I've ever done in my life!" 

And then, for want of anything better to do, Jim turned out the light, reclined in bed with his lover, and held him, softly petting his hair, until the sun rose the next morning.

* * *

Twelve hours and one biopsy later, their worst fears were confirmed. Blair had a malignant tumor in the lymph nodes under his arm. The remission was over.

The two men sat numbly in Brad McVey's office and listened to him calmly schedule surgery in four days to remove the tumor and to explore the other lymph node site at Blair's groin. They would select a treatment regime based on the outcome of the surgery.

Slumped in his chair, shoulders hunched, Blair looked like a surly adolescent brought before the school principal. He wouldn't meet Brad's gaze, so the doctor spent the majority of the consult speaking directly to Jim. The irony wasn't lost on the detective. Not 24 hours ago, he'd tried to promise Blair that he wouldn't force his will on the younger man, and now here he was making all the decisions. 

Jim sighed and shifted in the chair. He hadn't slept at all the night before, and he was feeling the fatigue as a weight across his shoulders. Okay, so Blair wasn't up to all of this just yet, that didn't mean Jim couldn't factor in his point of view, did it? There was a ton of information back at the loft that Blair had gathered when he was sick the first time. Jim decided he would read up a little before the surgery, just in case Blair was still out of it when they met with Brad again. 

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal: 

The lymphoma's back. The remission only lasted nine months, and you don't have to be an oncologist to know what that means. 

I lost it when Jim found the tumor. I'm talking totally flipped out here, man. I just couldn't believe it, couldn't make my brain wrap itself around the concept. I've totally let Jim down, and on top of that, I feel like a complete idiot for all that squawking I did about taking care of myself. Since we found out, I can barely pick out a pair of socks in the morning. I've left everything up to Jim, and I feel guilty about that too. I can't pick out a pair of socks to put on, I'm supposed to select a treatment regime? 

When I got up this morning, Jim was reading through a bunch of alternative healing books I'd picked up last time I was sick. He kept asking what I thought about this treatment or that, looking up at me with eyes so full of emotion--hope and desperation and faith, offering his acceptance of alternative medicine like a child offering his crush a bouquet of hand-picked flowers. It was almost like he was speaking a foreign language. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and ask if there was any orange juice left.

* * *

Jim felt guilty for going to work, even though Blair insisted on it after he got him admitted to the hospital. It would have been easy enough to override Blair's insistence, but the hospital room was oppressive, made Jim feel like the walls were slowly drawing closer and closer. His discomfort was obvious. Blair was slated for tests all morning long anyway, so it wasn't like they would have spent any time together. And given Blair's frame of mind the past few days, if they had been together, they probably wouldn't have spoke to one another. Besides, Jim needed to tell Simon what was going on, and he wanted to do that in person.

_Okay, Ellison, how many more justifications are you going to drum up?_ he wondered idly. 

He hated feeling helpless. Already that gnawing, consuming panic that had been his constant companion the last time Blair was ill was churning in his stomach. That feeling scared him almost as much as the thought of Blair being sick. He...did things when he felt like this.

Jim sighed and sat back in his chair. Well he was just about as useless here as he was at the hospital, he thought, pushing away the report he was vainly trying to finish. He looked up, almost relieved, when Simon blew through the room and into his office.

"Simon, you got a minute?" Jim asked, rising from his desk and following Simon inside.

It was well known in the department, hell, in the entire building, that Simon did not want to be approached in the morning before he had a chance to make a pot of coffee and drink at least one cup. That meant if someone was disturbing him, it had better damn well be important.

Simon pursed his lips and suppressed a sigh. "What's up?" he asked, looking over Jim's shoulder for Blair.

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Jim stared at Simon with startled eyes and gruffly cleared his throat and tried again. "Blair's out of remission."

That was the first time Jim had said the words out loud. He looked around him, as if surprised to find the earth still revolving around its axis.

"Aw, Jim, no," Simon said, sounding just as shocked and saddened as he had the first time Jim delivered news of Blair's illness. The big man slid slowly down in his chair. "What's the prognosis?"

Jim sighed and sat down as well. "I don't know, Simon. Not so good, I'm thinking. It came back too fast. I don't think he's fully recovered from the first time through." He sighed again. "This is...too soon."

Simon rubbed his face with one big hand. "Blair holding up okay?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't think he knows what's hit him. He wasn't expecting this." Jim slowly shook his head, sounding dazed. "We didn't even get a year, Simon. Not even a single, lousy year." He sighed and straightened up in the chair. "He's scheduled for surgery this afternoon to remove the tumor. We'll know more after that."

Simon sighed and shook his head. "You guys don't deserve this," he said quietly. He opened the daytimer on his desk and studied it for a minute. "What time's the surgery?" he asked.

"Uh, twelve thirty," Jim replied. "Sir, you don't have to..."

"I've gotta rearrange a couple of meetings," Simon said, pointedly ignoring Jim. "I'll see you at the hospital around quarter 'til one."

"Simon, thanks, but really, you don't have to..."

"Blair's done a lot for me, and my kid," Simon said. Darryl had found a confidant in Blair, someone young enough to understand his point of view, but mature enough, level-headed enough, that Simon felt comfortable knowing Darryl felt close to him. "I'll see you there."

Jim smiled slightly, more acknowledgment than anything else. "Thanks, Simon," he said. "Blair, uh, doesn't want this to be public knowledge yet, Sir. All right?"

Simon nodded, but added, "The men and women here will be a good source of support for him. They were last time."

"I know," Jim said. "I think we just need some time to get used to the idea again, you know?"

It was a rhetorical question, but the way Simon nodded, Jim got the impression that the captain actually did know.

* * *

"It's only supposed to take three hours," Jim said.

It had been absolutely silent most of those three hours, and Simon jumped at the sound of Jim's voice.

"It's been five. That can't be good." Jim began pacing nervously. "Can't be good...I shouldn't have let it come to this...I should have taken care of this when I had the chance..."

"Jim," Simon said softly, then, when he failed to get Jim's attention, a little louder. "Jim!"

Jim gave him a haphazard glance. "You go off the deep end this soon and Sandburg'll have my ass," he said warningly.

Jim's face stayed blank for several beats, then the joke registered, and he made a face. "Am I fooling _anybody,_ Captain?"

Simon lifted a dubious eyebrow. "One of the guys on the janitorial staff isn't totally clued in, but he works the night shift."

"Sandburg lets me think my cover's secure," Jim admitted with an embarrassed shrug.

"Kind of hard to hide those cartoon birdies flying around your head," Simon said.

Jim was getting ready to reply when Brad McVey approached. "Hey, Jim," he said. "Got a minute?"

Jim nodded dumbly and followed McVey to his office. He sat down across from the doctor and tried one of Blair's breathing exercises. It wasn't doing much good. Brad looked down at his file, then leveled his gaze at Jim. "Jim, the news isn't as good as we'd hoped," he said, and Jim felt the blood drain from his face.

"We removed a tumor from the lymph nodes under Blair's arm, and while we didn't find a tumor in the groin area, there were some cancer cells present."

Jim processed the information as quickly as he could. He knew it was more favorable to have cancer in only one of the lymph node sites. Going in, they hadn't thought there was any involvement outside of the nodes under Blair's arm. "Okay, uh, so what does this mean?"

"It means we're looking at a fairly aggressive return of the cancer, Jim. Cancer cells above and below the diaphragm, coupled with the fact that the remission only lasted nine months, means we're going to have to combat the disease just as aggressively. Now, there's no involvement in any of the organs, nor in the chest or anywhere else, and I'm very encouraged by that. I'd like to schedule the chemo and radiation routines now. Give us a few days to come up with the best approach, then we'll..."

"Right now?" Jim interrupted. "I thought we'd be able to...last time we had some time to discuss the treatments we wanted."

McVey's eyes flicked from Jim down to the file on his desk. "That's a luxury we don't have," he said.

Jim felt his lungs heave, but he clenched his jaw and nodded shortly. "What's Blair's prognosis?"

"I'm confident we can beat this, Jim," the doctor said. But Jim's heart twisted and fell with the realization that McVey's bland features would make any stonefaced cop envious.

Continued in part two.


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Continued from part one. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part two 

Blair only spent one night in the hospital. Jim picked him up early in the morning and drove him back to the loft amidst an almost stifling silence. Jim had relayed all of McVey's findings and suggestions for a course of treatment, but Blair had merely shrugged and said he'd do whatever Jim thought was best.

Jim had tried cajoling and teasing Blair into a response, but that didn't work. He'd been frustrated and severe, but Blair merely looked at him as if he were a stranger. 

Without Blair's confidence to bolster his decision, Jim let McVey lead them into the conventional treatment for a relapse, which was chemotherapy and radiation. Blair showed no emotion when Jim explained that they'd be starting the chemo rotation in another four days. He complained of soreness from the surgery and immediately laid down on the bed in his old room, where he slept for the rest of the night.

And though Jim knew it was foolish, he couldn't help but feel like he was being punished for something that wasn't even remotely his fault.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I can't seem to get past this shock, this, like, total disbelief that this is happening to me again. The surgery showed some cancer cells in the nodes at my groin in addition to the tumor under the arm. That's not the greatest news, but at least there wasn't a tumor. We start a chemo/radiation rotation in another week. Man, I am so not sure I can handle this. Knowing what to expect is making this a thousand times harder than it was the first time through. I know how I'm going to feel, what I'm going to look like, how people are going to treat me.

And I know what this is going to do to Jim.

I wish I was alone. I wish Jim's fear and sympathy and panic couldn't touch me in any way. It's too hard. It's just too fucking hard to deal with all this shit. I never asked for him to love me. I never asked for him to need me. This is what comes from tying yourself to one person--total dependence and for what? To have that person kick it and leave you devastated? What's the point? Naomi had the right idea all along.

I keep getting this panicked urge to run, to just get the fuck out and go somewhere and do this alone so I don't have to watch Jim going through it. It'll never happen though. I don't have that kind of strength. Too much the fucking coward not to try to hide in Jim.

I didn't think I was going to die the last time. I really didn't. Even when I was the sickest I've ever been in my life, I knew, I mean, I _knew_ I was going to get better.

This time, I'm not so sure.

And for the life of me, I can't seem to make myself care.

* * *

Chemo and radiation quickly forced Jim and Blair back into a predictable schedule so similar to the one they'd had the first time Blair was sick that it was hard to remember there had ever been a break.

Blair thought he'd be able to keep up with the three classes he was teaching, but two weeks into the chemo, he realized that wasn't the case. He quietly transferred teaching duties for two of the courses to a colleague. Like before, he wanted to keep the news of his illness as private as possible, but the obvious side effects of the chemo made that difficult--it was being administered in larger doses and on a tighter rotation this time through. Instead of a 12 day cycle, Blair was on a six day cycle, his system barely having time to recover from one treatment before another was due.

At the hospital or the University or the precinct, Blair was confident and upbeat, thanking people for their sympathy with one breath and denying he needed it with the next. 

At home, he was withdrawn and uncommunicative, as if the front he put up in public left him too drained to show anything at the loft. Not that Jim was all that excited at the idea of discussing their predicament. Not much to say about it really. It sucked, as Sandburg would say, and that's all there was to it.

Jim was trying to be understanding, trying to give Blair as wide a berth as the younger man apparently needed, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. It hurt to see Blair giving himself to virtual strangers but closing himself off to him. Some days that hurt turned to anger, as the thought involuntarily rose in his mind, _But I'm the one who has to stay behind. I'm the one who has to **live** with this..._

Jim shook his head and finished cleaning up the dinner dishes. The kitchen had been spotless for the last 45 minutes, he was really just wasting time to avoid having to sit out in the living room with Blair. He had his third chemo session the next morning, so his mood was even blacker than usual, and so far everything Jim had said that evening had been either ignored or met with derision. He was pretty much through trying.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I'm getting the chemo in higher doses this time, and it's really wiping me out. It's not so much the throwing up--which is shitty, don't get me wrong. It's just the fatigue that's killing me. I think part of that is still depression and shock. 

God, this SUCKS! 

I'm totally losing my hair again. There goes almost a year's worth of it. Fuck! I really love my hair, man. I know it's totally self- centered, very non-Zen, but, man, my hair was, like, me, you know? 

Jim and I are past the package making a whole hell of a lot of difference, but my hair totally drove the man wild, and I hate to give that up, even if it is just temporary. Toss my hair, open my eyes wide to the man, and he is toast. Sometimes, I pull it back because I know it drives him crazy. He spends the day imagining undoing the clasp and watching me shake it free. Most of the time, we don't even make it out of the parking garage before he's taking the band off and running his fingers through my hair... Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

* * *

Jim quietly turned the page of the book he was reading and bit back a sigh. Another evening spent in the suffocating silence of the loft. At least Blair was doing something other than glowering on the couch, Jim thought wryly. The kid was sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop, cursing under his breath at something he'd written a few days earlier. 

"Jeez, why do I do this?" Blair muttered darkly. "End up wasting more time correcting what I wrote than anything else. This is so fucked up, I don't even know why I bother."

Jim knew better than to respond or even give any indication that he could hear. Blair had already snapped at him for pushing him to eat and asking him if he'd called Naomi yet. Jim only gave it one or two tries anymore before he retreated into his own stony silence. 

He'd actually surprised himself by mentioning something to Simon. The Captain asked after Sandburg, who hadn't been to the station since before his last chemo session. It was just an innocent, "How's the kid doing?" and Jim responded with a gruff, "Shitty," then launched into the play-by-play of Blair's frame of mind the last few weeks. Jim wasn't sure what he expected from Simon, but the Captain had motioned him into his office, poured him a cup of coffee, and listened quietly as Jim related his frustration with the silent and angry Sandburg.

Simon had offered no advice, he simply nodded as Jim spoke, then asked casually if he thought Blair would mind Simon's stopping by that evening. The request surprised Jim, but he readily agreed.

Now, though, listening to Blair growling over his work, knowing he'd spent most of the day ill and unhappy, Jim wasn't so sure it was a good idea. Simon was his boss, after all, and not all that forgiving of Sandburg under the best of circumstances...

It was too late though. The Sentinel heard the downstairs door opening and smelled the cigar Simon extinguished before getting in the elevator.

Blair opened the door when the captain knocked and lifted a curious brow at finding Simon there. "You have some undercover case you need me on, Simon?" he asked wryly. "Or rather, my crappy bloodstream?"

Jim looked startled, but Simon just laughed and pushed his way inside. He swatted Blair on the top of the head with a racing form. "Not today, Sandburg. Just looking for a little, uh, guidance." He shoved the form into Blair's hands and ordered, "Three winners."

Blair laughed easily, rocking back on his heels in amusement. "Man, I oughta be charging you," he said, following Simon into the living room, where the captain launched into a 'Can You Believe This?' story about the day he'd had. 

Blair was laughing about Simon's latest run in with the mayor and the Chief of Police, when Simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Hey, Sandburg, I actually had a reason for showing up tonight," he said.

Blair lifted a curious brow. "What's up, Simon?"

"Well, I know you want to keep the relapse hush hush right now, and I understand that. But Darryl's been asking after you, hounding me to get you guys over for dinner or something, and I'm running out of viable excuses. I was hoping you'd okay my telling the kid what's going on."

"Simon, actually, I'd, uh, prefer to tell him myself," Blair said quietly. "I owe him that."

Simon smiled a gentle, fatherly smile that made Blair blush. _Blush?!_ Jim thought with uncharacteristic incredulity. _Jesus Christ, what next?_

"Why don't you and Jim come to dinner Friday, then," Simon was saying, standing up and snatching the racing form back from Blair. "Aw, for Christ's sake, Sandburg," Simon now groused. "Would it kill you to pick Little Stogie every once in awhile."

"You said three winners!" Blair retorted, grinning when Simon thumped him again with the paper. He showed Simon to the door and watched him get on the elevator after Jim grunted his farewell.

Jim tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth, no doubt the result of the adolescent jealousy heating his blood stream. Sandburg had been downright surly with him the last few days, but let Simon walk through the door, and he lights up like a fucking Christmas tree.

"Hey, that was pretty cool of Simon, huh?" Blair said brightly, his dark mood not so much vanished as transferred in its entirety to Jim.

"Yeah, cool," the detective muttered. "Hell, I'm surprised you didn't follow him home."

"What?" Blair asked in amused surprise.

"Forget it," Jim said, brushing past Blair to the sink.

With a shrug, Blair sat back down in front of his laptop. "Hey, this isn't so bad," he said, sounding surprised. 

He was still going at it when Jim thumped noisily up the stairs and threw himself into bed. 

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Simon's been hanging around a lot--at first I thought because he was afraid Jim would flip out like he did the last time I was sick, but now I think it's something else. Communication between Jim and me is really hard right now. I'm just so pissed all the time, and whenever I get within a foot of him, I _feel_ his desperation. My skin crawls with it, and it makes me want to break something, tear the fucking room apart. 

Jim and I had dinner at Simon's so I could tell Darryl in person that I was out of remission. The kid took it hard, shut himself off in his bedroom and refused to come out. I got him to open the door, then told him not to be scared, that I'd answer any questions he had. It made him mad that I was so calm about it. Why wasn't I angrier? he wanted to know. I laughed, then, in spite of myself. Told him I went from pissed, to resigned, to scared, to completely disinterested about every five minutes. I told him everything the doctors had told me, and I told him how confident Jim was that I was going to beat this, and how much that confidence was helping me. 

He seemed a little embarrassed when I was talking about Jim. I think sometimes Darryl pretends Jim is more or less my father. It's easy for him to see me as an almost-peer (hell, he's a couple of inches taller than I am, now), but Jim is more a part of Simon's world to him. He knows Jim and I are lovers, but that's a tough concept for him right now. I'm sure he thinks that accepting our homosexuality might in some way mean _he_ was gay as well. Typical adolescent bullshit. That's why it's easier for him to see Jim in the role of father. Which isn't that much of a stretch these days. Swear to God, I thought the man was going to lean over and cut my steak into little bite-sized pieces for me.

Anyway, Darryl seemed to feel better after asking a couple of questions. He came downstairs, and we ragged on Simon for awhile which perked him right up. Darryl, that is.

I still haven't told Naomi yet, but I'm going to have to soon, if for nothing more than to get Jim off my back. 

Aw hell, that's not fair. Accurate maybe, but not fair. I wish I could do this by myself.

I wish I could just shut myself off in a room somewhere and never have to look at another soul again, much less tell them I'm sick. I hate hearing them tell me they're sorry. I hate seeing that sorrow in their eyes. I hate them looking at me and seeing the sickness in me. And sometimes, well... sometimes, I just hate them.

Being sick is one of those George Bailey kind of things where you suddenly realize how your life touches the lives of so many other people. That's both good and bad. I hate the idea that I'm hurting people by being sick.

I hate everything about this. It totally sucks to be me right now.

* * *

Jim hung up the phone and sighed at having yet another tense conversation with Blair. Chemo the day before had hit particularly hard, and that morning, Jim asked a home care nurse to stay with the kid. Too tired and ill to put up much of a fight before Jim left for work, Blair called that afternoon to tell Jim he'd sent the woman on her way. Jesus, sometimes it was like Blair was daring him, fucking _daring_ him to lose his temper. The younger man seemed positively disappointed when Jim merely sighed and asked if he'd been able to eat anything.

Jim just didn't get it. Here he was going out of his way to be the thoughtful, solicitous partner he _should_ have been the first time Blair got sick, and instead of appreciation, all he got was resentment. Did Blair think this was easy for him? _He_ was the one who would be left behind if Blair...No, no, that wasn't going to happen. _Jeez, Ellison, what's wrong with you?_

There was no time for further self-recriminations. Simon bolted out of his office. "Ryf, Brown and two uniforms are in front of Mason's house!" he called, heading for the door. "Shots fired!" Jim and the other officers checked their weapons and prepared to follow. 

Randy Mason was a low level drug dealer, central to a case Brown and Ryf were working. They'd hoped he'd lead them to bigger fish, but delusions of grandeur--not to mention a penchant for sampling the goods--made him a loose cannon.

Jim crouched behind a squad car and focused in through the window of the shack. He could hear Randy Mason grousing about all the crap he had to put up with. _Fucking shit, what does he know about anything,_ Jim thought sourly. He looked around at the other officers. What did any of them know? Jesus Christ, this was all so fucking meaningless. They take care of Mason and some other worthless scumbag would take his place before the body was hauled away. And in the meantime, some good men could be killed. For what? This damn city was a fucking revolving door of crime. Before they signed off on the paperwork for Mason, his lawyer would have him out on bail.

Jim tried to shake away the sense of boredom pervading his system. It was as dangerous as the idea of invincibility to a cop and he'd noticed it in himself more and more lately. Boredom gave way to carelessness and carelessness could get you killed. Which had always, in the past, been something to avoid.

_Like it matters if I'm around to clean up this cesspool,_ Jim thought darkly. _Like I can fucking make a difference here. I can't even make a difference in my own life, I'm going to do something here? I don't think so..._

Jim cleared his throat and tried to focus. God he missed Blair on the Job, although technically, his wandering thoughts didn't have much to do with his Sentinel abilities. Blair should be there, he thought bitterly. Should be stooped down next to him, hand on his forearm, quietly instructing him to listen in on Mason to see what they could learn, see if they could draw this shindig to a close without violence, without mayhem. Give peace a chance and all that other shit.

"You hear anything, Jim?" Simon asked in a low voice.

"Only Mason bellyaching about harassment," Jim answered with a smirk.

"Who else is in the house?" Simon lowered his voice even further.

"I've got three heartbeats. Mason, his girlfriend, and an infant," said Jim. "Tear gas is out, Captain."

Simon nodded. "How much fire power?"

Jim raised up over the side of the car and zeroed in on one of the open windows. "Looks like a couple of .45's. His girlfriend is bitching to him about causing trouble with the baby in the house, she's not going to be much help, but we can't risk rushing the place."

Mason shouted now, that his wife and kid be allowed to leave the house. Simon answered back his okay and warned the other officers to hold their fire. A small woman with stringy, dirty blond hair crept out of the front door, cradling a baby in her arms. Jim listened in and nodded at Simon to indicate the bundle was, indeed, a child. Mason appeared in the doorway, a .45 in each hand, and Jim instantly realized he meant to use his girlfriend and their _child_ as a shield. 

_Fuck that,_ Jim thought and ducked out from behind the car, sprinting toward a shocked Randy Mason. Jim grabbed the barrel of each gun with his hands, bringing up his elbow to knock Mason in the chin. The man dropped bonelessly to the ground.

A few of the officers, none of whom reported to Simon Banks, cheered. Seeing the surprised--and surprisingly stony--looks of the officers in Major Crimes, the applause died down and procedure took over.

Mason came around and was Mirandized and cuffed. The girlfriend and her child were ushered into a police car, headed for Social Services to sort out.

Jim felt the eyes of his fellow officers on him, and he ignored them. He thought of nothing as he drove back to the station. He listened to the radio and breathed--in through the nose, out through the mouth. He didn't bother to sit down because he saw Simon heading for him.

"My office. Now," Simon said, his voice measured and slow, a sure sign that he was furious. 

Head bowed, Jim trudged to the captain's office. In the past, he'd always felt that, whatever he was getting reamed for, he'd been in the right, played the situation the way it should have been played, regardless of the rules and regulations. It had given him a cocky, self-assured swagger for the numerous treks he'd made to a superior's office. 

There was no such self-assurance now. He'd fucked up, and he knew it. Nothing to do but take his lumps. Jim sat down across from the captain and expectantly raised his eyes. The understanding he saw in Simon's eyes surprised him, made him think maybe he wasn't going to get the reaming he expected.

"I called Blair," Simon said quietly.

Jim groaned, a nice, vicious ass chewing from Simon infinitely more attractive than one from an angry Blair. "Ah, jeez, Simon, why'd you go and do that?" he asked plaintively. 

"Because he's the only person I know who can talk to you when you get like this!" Simon answered gruffly. "Because you can bet your ass I'm not going to be the one knocking on the door and telling that boy you're not coming home ever again! You have got to get your head on straight, man!"

"I know, Simon, I know!" Jim said.

"I've looked the other way for a couple of weeks now," Simon said in a low voice. "I kept thinking you'd get your head together and snap out of it, but you haven't. This is unacceptable, Jim! You're only endangering yourself right now, but it's just a matter of time until you endanger the lives of others as well."

Jim nodded slowly, knowing Simon was right. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "It's not fair, you know? I mean, if something happened to me, I know Blair would be devastated, but he'd survive it. He's stronger than anyone I've ever known. Resilient. It might take some time, but he'd be okay."

"Jim, you don't know..."

"It's different for me. Blair is all I have." The admission came softly but with no less conviction than had it been shouted from the tallest mountain in Cascade.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

God, I'm so _fucking_ pissed at Jim right now, I want to tear him apart. I just got off the phone with Simon. Jim took down some drug dealer this afternoon. Simon said he should have called me sooner, but he kept thinking it was just a series of coincidences until today. Jim rushed the guy before the signal was given. Just took off, out in the open, charging head first into the lion's den. He was wearing a vest, but he was completely vulnerable, almost like he was asking for it. Daring him to take him down. Simon said it's not the first time in recent weeks that Jim's taken a stupid chance-- this is just the most blatant. What the fuck is he thinking! God damn it, I'm ripping that motherfucker a new asshole when he drags his sorry ass home. Fucking playing his stupid, selfish games. If I'd been there, I'd've been tempted to shoot the asshole myself.

* * *

Jim slowly headed for the elevator, dragging his feet like a child with a bad report card. He listened for a moment once the doors openen on their floor. Blair's heart was thundering, and he was pacing, muttering under his breath. Jim took a deep, fortifying breath and prepared to face the music.

He opened the door and stepped inside. "Hey," he said weakly, tossing his keys in the basket and hanging his coat up with exaggerated care.

Blair was breathing heavy, nostrils flaring. The angrier Blair was, the less articulate he became, a trait Jim found endearing, which was dangerous, because the last thing Blair was looking to trigger when he got like this was amusement.

The younger man paced angrily in front of the balcony for several long minutes. Jim watched him heave several deep breaths before turning to face him. He couldn't look at Jim as he asked, "Are you trying to punish me? Is that it?"

The question shocked Jim, kept him from answering.

"Or are you simply trying to get yourself killed? Beating me to the punch? Some bizarre, 'two-can-play-this-game' kind of thing? I mean, help me out here, Jim. Get me into your mindset because I'm _fucking_ clueless over here!"

Jim had given Blair every right to ask the question, and he ducked his head to hide the guilt in his eyes. "It was nothing as overt as that," Jim said quietly, then stopped to see if Blair would let him explain further. 

Blair blinked in surprise, probably not expecting Jim to own up to his actions so quickly.

"I've been driving around awhile. Putting off the inevitable, I guess." Jim gave Blair a deprecating grin and shrugged. "Trying to figure out what's up with me, you know?" 

Blair nodded slowly, his eyes still piercing.

"I wasn't trying to be vindictive," Jim carefully continued. "It wasn't even that I...that I wanted to be the first to go. Jesus, Blair, I didn't even realize I was doing _anything_ until this afternoon, and then it dawned on me that I didn't care. I didn't care if something happened to me; I didn't care if I woke up tomorrow or not. Let someone else defend the tribe. Let someone else carry the fucking ball for once in my goddamned life."

Blair sat down on the coffee table, facing Jim. "Let someone else sit by and watch me die." The words were said softly, compassionately, without a trace of reproach in Blair's tone.

Jim flinched and nodded painfully. "I'm so fucking alone on this, Blair. I know that's about the most selfish thing I've ever said, but it's how I feel. All my life, I've been a loner, you know? Kept people at bay, never let anyone get too close. And then in, like, seconds flat, you ripped all those barriers to shreds, but now...now I'm back to being alone, and I'm scared shitless, Chief. I don't want this. God, I don't want this."

"Jim, I know I've been..."

"I don't know how to help you, you know? So all I can do is just sit here and watch, and I know it's pissing you off, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do, you know?"

"Oh shit, Jim," Blair said breathlessly. "I...shit, it's not you! God, it would never be you. I just...I'm just _pissed,_ man, not at you, just at... _this,_ you know? Come on, man, you've gotta know that."

"I'm supposed to help you!" Jim stubbornly persisted. "I'm supposed to take care of you, to make this better, and I can't! I know I'm failing you, okay? Does that make it any better? I know I'm totally fucking this up, all right?"

"Shit," Blair muttered. "Jeez, man, I'm the selfish one here, okay? Look, Jim, please, I'm just...I'm just so angry right now, I can't deal with anything else, but it's not you. My God, if anything I resent how... how fucking perfect you are, you know? You're not failing me! Jeez, that's just...that's just impossible, man!"

"You know, it's not like I want a lot here. I'm not askin' for the world or anything. Just a life together, nothing flashy, nothing major, just you and me. But this... Jesus, I don't want this. I don't want any of it. It's not fair. There's no reason for it. We already lived through it once!"

"Oh, man, Jim, I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I'm gonna go nuts trying to figure it out," Blair said. "Is this a test from God? Are evil spirits haunting me? Am I paying for the bad karma of another life or maybe building up points for the next one? Or maybe it's just that some stupid, fucking blood cell of mine mutated for no reason in the world. And even if I figure it out, does it make a difference? Will having a reason behind all of this shit make it any easier? Will having no reason make it worse?"

They were both quiet for awhile, then Jim looked over at his lover, blue eyes swimming with misery. "I'm sorry, Blair. I promised you...I promised myself I wasn't going to do this; I wasn't going to make it about me. I'm sorry, okay?"

"I've been shutting you out, and that's not fair," Blair said with a sigh. "We said we were going to do this together this time through, and I'm the one fucking that up. I hate hurting you, and I guess I thought if I tried to do this by myself it would hurt you less."

"I can't stand it that I can't do anything," Jim said. "I hate that we can't make something happen here, you know?"

Blair said nothing more for awhile. His hand absentmindedly caressed Jim's thigh. "Sometimes I think that when it gets bad...when it gets _real_ bad, maybe...maybe we won't leave it to the gods or the fates or whoever we're trusting our future to at the time. Maybe we'll just take control of the whole thing and decide...decide when I go."

Jim nodded slowly, his eyes boring into the younger man. His heart leapt at the opportunity he had been waiting for weeks to arise. "If we decide when you go," he said eagerly, "why can't we decide to let me go with you?" His eyes begged Blair for permission.

Watching Blair's pain at his words, Jim felt a momentary flash of guilt, but they'd vowed honesty this time through, and this was how Jim felt. He didn't want to survive Blair. He didn't want to live without him; he didn't really believe he could. If losing Danny Choi had made his senses go haywire, what would losing Blair do to him? The thought terrified him. 

Blair sighed. "I don't know, Jim," he said. "Maybe it's the difference between giving up and giving in."

"Semantics," Jim said scornfully. "Running away from one thing or running toward something else, it's all still running."

Blair smiled unexpectedly, and his beauty warmed Jim like heat from the sun. "You're so linear," he said, affectionately shaking his head.

Jim grinned back. He'd missed this Blair, sweet, attentive, teasing. "Isn't linear just another word for straight? I think I can prove you wrong there, Chief."

Blair shrugged and opened his arms wide, welcoming Jim home. "Give it your best shot, Big Guy," he said.

So Jim did.

* * *

When Jim woke up the next morning, it was without Blair draped over him, and he sighed, wondering if Blair regretted opening himself up the night before. Jim listened for a moment, and even without Sentinel hearing, he knew Blair was talking on the phone. Then he heard a sniff, and then another. When Blair quietly spoke, his stuffed up nose made his voice sound thick and wet.

"I know, Mom," he said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, I just... I _know,_ Mom, but I can't help it if I want to protect you from stuff...Oh yeah, right. This from a woman who marched herself down to the Cascade police department and pretty much ripped Simon Banks a new asshole." 

Jim didn't focus in to eavesdrop, but he easily heard Naomi's sharp tone replying to Blair, who suddenly burst out laughing. "What do you mean, watch my language? Ma, you've been known to swear like a sailor...Oh man, that is revisionist history if ever I've heard it...Yeah, well, look, I gotta go. Jim's gonna be up soon, so I'd better get started on breakfast." 

Another pause, and Blair started laughing again. "I so do not jump when he says jump! Naomi, for one thing, Jim would never say jump...Well, okay, I guess the plane thing in Peru _would_ tend to refute that...All right, and I'll give you the cliff thing, but that's hardly an indication of our domestic interactions."

This time, Jim could actually hear Naomi's words. "Don't you 'domestic interaction' _me,_ Young Man," she warned.

"Aw, Naomi, don't call me 'Young Man.'" Blair moaned. "You know I hate that... I know, Ma... I know. I worry about you, too, see? Okay then, I'll see you this weekend...Oh ha, ha, no, I'm _sure_ I don't have to check with Jim first. You know, you're not careful, you're going to turn into that dreaded mother-in-law stereotype ...See there, Ma, like a sailor, I tell you! Like a sailor!" Jim grinned at Blair's laughter. It had been too long since he'd heard it. "Okay, love you too, Naomi. See you soon."

"No sage!" Jim called down when the receiver clicked back in the cradle.

Blair laughed again, and Jim felt doubly warmed to have that laughter aimed at him. A different kind of warmth suffused him when Blair mounted the stairs and appeared before him nude. Jim made a face at him. "You were talking to your mother like that?" he asked.

Blair climbed on the bed. "She couldn't see me." A well-known look suddenly crossed his face. "Hey, I wonder if you could piggyback your hearing and sight through a phone line? God, Jim, do you realize the implications, if we just..."

Jim quickly cut him off at the pass. "I thought you were the guy who was cold all the time," Jim said, wrapping his arms around the younger man.

"Not all the time," Blair said, nestling his head up under Jim's chin and letting the larger man settle him against his chest.

Jim ran a gentle hand up and down Blair's back and they were quiet for a time. "So you told her," Jim said finally.

Blair gave a barely perceptible nod. "Yeah," he said, sounding sleepy. "I told her.

"You okay?"

Blair sighed and shrugged. "Do I have to move anytime soon?" he asked.

Jim tightened his arms and kissed the top of Blair's head. "I've got some free time," he said, gruffly clearing his throat.

He felt Blair's brief smile against his chest. "Then I'm fine, Big Guy," he whispered. "Just fine."

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Had a nice long talk with Naomi today. Well, nice probably isn't the right word. I told her I was out of remission, and we both cried and even though I feel like total shit for doing this to her, it felt so good to tell her. She really, _really_ thinks I'm going to beat this, the same way Jim really believes it. They both make my doubt seem ridiculous somehow. She's coming up next weekend, and I'm glad. She was kind of put out that I was taking the conventional route with the treatment, but I told her how out of it I was after the diagnosis. Told her to bring whatever magical potions she wanted, and I'd be happy to take them. 

I keep feeling like what difference does it make whether I take chemotherapy or some holistic approach? What does any of this matter? It's all decided by something, someone, out of my control. What I want, what I _do_ seems so meaningless to the entire equation. 

On a purely anthropological level, there are a lot of interesting facets here. The psychology of dying, of living with death. Would embracing some organized religion make me feel differently? Undoubtedly so, but how so? Is it the human condition to search for answers where none exist? _Does_ an answer exist somewhere? And what does finding the answer do for me? Dead is dead, right? Why did I believe so strongly the last time that I would be okay? Why don't I have that confidence now?

Why? The word circles inside my head, eclipsing all other thoughts. It pounds at me relentlessly, keeping time with every step I take. Why, why, why, why, why... 

Jim and I are just hanging out today, and it's been nice. Sometimes it's really hard for me to let Jim out of arms length. Not sure what's up with that, but today's one of those days where I feel panicky every time he moves away from me. Not that he moves away very often. He seems to know when I need him close and makes sure to stick tight.

God, I'm such a fucking basket case lately. I'm so not who I really am, but Jim just keeps acting like everything's the same as ever. How can he love me if I'm not who I used to be? And what if I'm never who I was and end up spending the rest of my life as someone I'm not? 

* * *

Jim looked down at the bundle on his lap as Blair shifted and sighed and tossed his journal to the floor. "Need to sleep?" Jim asked, moving as well so that Blair could be more comfortable.

Blair shook his head.

"Want to try some lunch, then?" Jim asked, carefully lifting Blair off his legs so he could stand up. "I was going to make a sandwich. That sound good to you?"

Blair shook his head again, but got up and followed Jim into the kitchen. Jim's smile was soft and indulgent. He bent down and kissed the top of Blair's head, rubbing his back as he moved past him to the fridge. "I know you, Sandburg," Jim teased. "You say you're not hungry, but I'll make myself this great sandwich and the first time I turn around you'll snag it."

Blair sighed. "Doesn't it bother you?" he blurted out.

"That you steal my sandwich?" Jim innocently asked. "Hell yes it bothers me, but that doesn't seem to stop you."

"That's not what I mean," Blair said irritably. "Me."

"Don't _you_ bother me?" Jim clarified. "Well, I gotta answer yes to that one too, Chief. Especially when you're giving me those tests or ignoring my orders when we're on the Job. But you usually make up for it somehow." His lewd grin faded when Blair grew upset.

"I'm serious! I'm not who I was, and I might never be, and you're being all perfect about everything so you'll just end up being stuck with this person you never even knew!"

"I have no idea what in the hell you just said," Jim said mildly. He put the finishing touches on a roast beef and cheese sandwich, laying off the mayo and mustard just in case Blair decided he wanted a bite or two.

"Doesn't it bug you that I'm not, like, who I normally am?"

Jim took a bite of the sandwich and shrugged. "I don't know, Chief. Standing around spouting nonsense _is_ pretty much who you normally are," he said with his mouth full.

"Jim!" Blair plaintively began.

"Blair!" Jim mimicked, taking his plate over to the kitchen table.

"I'm serious, man! You can't keep up this act forever, you know. And I might be this different person from now on, so I think we should talk about it."

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. "One meal, Chief. That's all I'm asking for some time in this life. Let me eat one meal in peace!" Blair shrugged and had the decency to at least _look_ embarrassed. Jim sighed again and sat back in his chair. "So, who is it that you think you suddenly are?"

"It's not who I am, it's that I'm not who I was!" Blair tried vainly to explain.

Jim huffed in irritation. "Sandburg, you are who you are, and if who you are isn't who you were, that doesn't make you any less who you are now!"

Blair cocked his head to the side and studied Jim, as if he'd just discovered something new about the man. "I never thought of it that way," Blair said thoughtfully.

"I just made that up!" Jim said, nearly sputtering in exasperation.

"Doesn't make it any less true," Blair said with a shrug. He picked up half of Jim's sandwich and carried it over to the couch. "Hey, this is good!" he called and turned the television to the Discovery Channel.

* * *

Despite Jim's decree, Naomi brought with her a lifetime supply of sage along with her endless psycho-babble. Babble to Jim, not so much to Blair, who listened intently, taking notes and reading over Naomi's shoulder as she bookmarked pages in one of the many reference books she'd brought with her. Jim wondered why it was so easy for Blair to buy into her point of view when he had categorically refused to even consider using the serum he now thought destroyed. Naomi's ideas were just as far fetched as his, the detective thought dourly. Why embrace hers and ignore his?

Okay, so maybe there was some moral conundrum associated with a serum manufactured at the cost of other human life, but those lives were already gone...

Jim shook his head to clear his train of thought. _Okay, Ellison, you walked that path once before and it got you nowhere, buddy boy._

With a sigh, Jim looked up at the clock on the wall and made a face. The Jags game was starting in an hour, and he had planned to spread out on the couch with some popcorn and beer and Blair, but with Naomi visiting that wasn't such an attractive prospect anymore. He'd escaped to the office just after breakfast, figuring the two might want some privacy. Not that they asked for it or anything. Jesus, but those two would say just about anything to one another, apparently oblivious that Jim was sitting right there, more often than not doing some sort of spit take at their audacity. It was the damnedest parent-child relationship he'd ever seen, not that he had a healthy one to draw from, but even so...

Jim gazed back down at the report he was proofreading and tried to swallow the twinge of jealousy he felt every time he thought about Sandburg and his mom. Jim didn't know if he envied the relationship Blair had with her, or if it was more that he begrudged Naomi the hold she had over her son. Either way, it was stupid and selfish. 

Blair had been uncharacteristically clingy with Naomi, which bothered Jim because it mean that Blair _wasn't_ uncharacteristically clingy with him. 

Ever since the Mason bust, Blair had made a swift 180 degree turn from distant and withdrawn to attached at Jim's hip. It was as if he was genuinely surprised every evening that Jim actually decided to come home, and he affixed himself at Jim's side to make sure the detective couldn't skip out on him. It wasn't much, but at least Jim felt his presence was _some_ help. 

But the minute Naomi waltzed through the door, Jim was pretty much forgotten as far as Blair was concerned. Jim knew he was being childish and petulant, but _he_ wanted to be the one who comforted Blair and gave him strength. As unrealistic as it was, it hurt Jim to think that Blair didn't get everything he needed from him and him alone. 

_It really isn't all **that** unrealistic,_ Jim thought grudgingly. It worked that way for him. Blair was everything he wanted or needed, and while Jim enjoyed friendships with some of his colleagues and, most recently, with his brother, those relationships weren't strictly necessary. Most of them were entirely due to Blair's influence, so without Blair around, it wasn't that much of a stretch to assume that many of those friendships wouldn't be either. 

Jim was too embarrassed to discuss his feelings with Blair, but he often wondered if the possessive streak he felt toward the younger man was as much a Sentinel's claim on his Guide as it was _Jim's_ claim on Blair. Yeah, Blair would love to field that question: _Hey, Chief, am I crazy because I want to own **you** or because I'm a Neanderthal Man who wants to control his mate?_ Blair would probably jump on the hypothesis and spend the next two weeks in the library researching it.

Chuckling at himself, Jim picked up the phone and called Simon. Maybe the captain and Darryl were watching the game and wouldn't mind a little company. Last time Jim watched the game at Simon's place, he and Darryl each made twenty bucks off the man.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Naomi came for the weekend. It was so great to see her, to hold on to her. I don't think I let her get a foot away from me the whole time she was here. 

Jim laid kind of low. I gave him a hard time about avoiding his mother-in-law and his ears just about turned purple. I think it still bugs him that fewer years separate him and Naomi than him and me. Somehow offends his sense of propriety, I guess. Gotta love that Dudly Do-Right thing he has going.

Mom still doesn't get it. Oh, she understands the aesthetics of it, let's get real, here. Jim's a god for pete's sake. But Naomi still sees "COP" before she sees anything else. Jim does come across as authoritarian I guess, maybe even unimaginative, which is an even greater sin in Mom's book. But under that power and authority is a gentleness and a sweetness that just knocks me out. There's safety and comfort and a feeling of home with Jim that are almost as intoxicating as the passion and lust and earth shattering sex. Which is a good thing, because getting it up is becoming a rarity around here. Radiation is _not_ a horny man's friend. 

Naomi left a pile of books and got me started on this macrobiotic diet that's supposed to kill cancer cells. She asked if I wanted Sam Ahkeah to come up for another sing. I said no. I'm not sure I believe in the power of the sing right now, and I couldn't insult the man by asking him to do one 'just in case.' I'm so not in harmony with what's happening. 

Mom and I kind of got into it a couple of times. She really wants me to quit the chemo, says it's poisoning me and probably canceling out any good the alternative stuff is doing. She thinks I'm letting Jim control my cure. Of course, then I had to point out that taking _her_ path meant I was letting _her_ control my cure. That made her laugh. She said, yeah, but her path was the right one.

I don't know, to me, it's like knocking on wood _and_ rubbing a rabbit's foot _and_ shaking hands with a chimney sweep and using any other kind of good luck sign. If I do a little bit of everything, maybe that'll be better than doing one thing all the way. I don't know. Shit, sometimes I feel like screaming that from the roof. "I don't know! I don't know!"

The whole thing reminded me of this story about a friend of mine, Mike Fitzpatrick. We call him Fitzie. Good Catholic kid from Boston. Comes out to Washington and gets all into the pagan scene. (Well, to be precise, he gets all into this _girl_ who's into the pagan scene.) Anyway, Fitzie's doing the whole pagan thing, talking it up right and left and all that. I ran into him at the library one Saturday and asked him if he wanted to join me and Jim for dinner and he said no because he was going to mass. And I'm like, "Fitzie? Mass? Thought you were the great pagan beast now!" And Fitzie kind of laughs at himself and shakes his head and says, "Hey, man, what if I'm wrong?"

It became one of those great debate topics, you know? Made greater by pitcher after pitcher of beer one late, late night at The Sink. I remember a whole group of us talking about how organized religion makes you accept certain tenants and reject others. No hedging your bets, man. This is truth. That isn't. This guy here goes to heaven, that guy there goes to hell. 

But there isn't one universal truth, is there? Aren't all _universal_ truths only as big as the universe a person creates within and around himself?

You're smirking big time, aren't you Jim? Rolling your eyes and shaking your head at me and probably muttering something along the lines of "Metaphysical bullshit, Chief." 

You're my universal truth, Big Guy. How's that? You like that, don't you?

I told Mom the story about Fitzie, and I think she got where I was coming from. Maybe chemo isn't the way to go. Maybe it is. Maybe there's not one universal cure for this, but maybe if I put everything all together there will be.

Cosmically covering my bases. 

Mom led me through a bunch of guided imagery and meditation exercises. I'm more relaxed, but not more enlightened.

* * *

Jim finished his leftover tuna surprise and reread page 53 of the new Ludlum. _Since when has the kitchen clock ticked so fucking loudly?_ he wondered, stretching his neck. He turned to look at it, not checking the time--it was 6:54 and Blair was supposed to be back at 6:30, but that wasn't the point at all was it--but rather, to check the clock itself.

Jim grimaced, stretched again and carried his dishes over to the sink, refusing to think about anything as he rinsed them and placed them in the sink.

_Half surprised Simon doesn't stick me on the oceanfront stakeout,_ Jim thought, seemingly against his will. _Hell, why not pack me up on that Vancouver/Seattle project. Six months in Seattle. He could probably have Blair moved in his fucking condo by then..._

_Yeah, Ellison, that's it,_ Jim thought scornfully. _Simon Banks is trying to steal your **boyfriend.** Maybe you can challenge him to a fight out by the bike racks while you're at it._

Simon had stopped by the loft after work and asked Blair if he wanted to go out to dinner. He hadn't even mentioned anything about it at the office and Jim had walked in after working out to find Blair putting on his jacket and heading out. Blair had had another rough reaction to chemo the day before and was barely keeping anything down. He looked exhausted and ill, and Jim couldn't believe Simon suggested a night out. 

Jim said nothing, though. Blair's gaze, at once pleading and defiant, kept him silent. 

Jim put plastic wrap on the casserole Blair had thrown together the night before chemo. He'd get at least one more dinner out of it. He opened the refrigerator and found a shelf for the pan. He felt a pang of sadness when he realized there wasn't a single red Tupperware dish in the fridge. With a sudden intake of air, Jim dropped to his knees, ripped open the bottom crisper and felt in a panicked rush for the pouch he had taped there. Jim sighed in relief to find it still secure in its place.

_Jesus, Ellison, get a grip!_ he sternly told himself.

Jim's heart jumped at the sound of the elevator doors opening. He scrambled to stand and slammed shut the door of the fridge, looking like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar when Blair and Simon walked in.

Blair lifted his eyebrow at Jim who blinked innocently at his lover. It was a look borrowed straight from the master himself, and Blair grinned in amusement at it, making Jim feel warm.

"Thanks for dinner, Simon," Blair said, easing himself down on the couch. He tensed his shoulders when Jim started rearranging the pillows behind him. 

"Jim, for God's sake, let the man breathe," Simon said in exasperation.

Jim straightened in surprise, then frowned at the conspiratorial grins passing between lover and boss. "I knew this dinner thing was a bad idea," he said, shaking his head.

Jim cleaned up the kitchen, listening closely to the conversation that seemed to be continuing from the drive over.

"I keep thinking maybe I should be doing something remarkable, you know?"

"Sentinel research isn't remarkable enough for you?" Simon asked in mild surprise.

"I don't know," Blair said. "There's something so intrinsically selfish about it. I mean, it's this totally guarded secret, and it's not like there's millions of Sentinels out there needing to know how to control their senses... Not like I'm doing so many great works that they're gonna do a TV movie of the week about me, you know?"

Simon bit back a smile of amusement. "Is that what you want?" 

"No...I don't know," Blair answered. "It's just... well, in a lot of philosophies what you think at first is a blessing is really a curse, and what you think is a curse can really turn out to be a blessing. Sometimes you've just got to work with it to see the blessing."

"So you're wrestling with angels now, eh Sandburg?" Simon teased.

Blair frowned in concentration, then smiled as he remembered the reference. "Jacob and the angel," he said.

Simon nodded, not at all surprised that Blair picked up on it. "Jacob wrestled with the angel all night long and said I will not let thee go except thou bless me."

"He got blessed, as I recall," Blair said. "What lesson are we supposed to take away from that do you think? Violence begets good luck? Tenacity wins you favors? God helps those who help themselves?"

"Well now if I knew the answers to those questions, I wouldn't be limping along on a captain's salary, would I?" Simon asked.

"I don't know, Simon. You have a sense of duty almost as strong as Jim's. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're not in this for the money."

Simon laughed as he took up leave. "Man's gotta do something to keep him in cigars, right Sandburg?"

Blair walked him to the door, thanking him again for dinner. Then he turned and fixed a determined stare on his lover.

"So what were you doing when we walked in?" Blair asked.

"I wasn't doing anything," Jim said. "I was just standing there."

Blair nodded, but it wasn't in agreement. "Yeah, right. You think I don't recognize that look, Big Guy?"

Jim grinned. "I think you can't prove anything."

"That almost sounds like a dare," Blair said.

"Hey, I'm not the guilty party here," Jim said, sitting down next to the kid, the grin fading to a softer smile when Blair fit himself into his arms. "I'm not the one who left my poor, _starved_ lover at home to eat Tuna Surprise, am I?"

"Hey man, he's _your_ boss," Blair pointed out. "He says come eat, I go eat."

"Did you?" Jim asked. "Eat something."

Blair grimaced and shook his head. "Sorry," he said softly. "I still feel like shit." He continued before Jim could say anything. "Felt good to get out of here for awhile though. Four walls were closing in, you know?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said and felt guilty for his earlier acrimony. He made no secret of the fact that he didn't like Blair to leave the loft, especially so soon after chemo. His immune system was weakened by the drugs, and they had to guard against pneumonia and other infections. Of course an energetic fast-paced guy like Blair would feel trapped by such inactivity.

Jim rubbed his hand up and down Blair's back, slipping his hand under the kid's sweater to feel the smooth, fevered skin of his back. "I'm glad you're home though," Jim said softly. "This is nice, huh?"

Blair nodded, or at least, it felt like he nodded. Maybe he was just snuggling up under Jim's chin. Either way, it felt great to the detective, who kept up his soothing pets.

_Oh God, how easy it would be. How easy to take the serum and end this shit now, before it got worse, before it got unbearable, before this beautiful treasured body was ravaged any further._

_A blessed protector protects. It's what he is. It's what he does. Why should he have to explain why or how he protects or worse than that, subvert that desire, that need?_

_Why should I watch you die when the answer to our problems is right here?_

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal: 

I taught today. Felt pretty shitty, but hope my students didn't notice. I'm starting to get that leper feeling. People stare, or worse, clam up whenever I walk in a room. I feel their eyes on me when I'm leaving, feel them counting 5-4-3-2-1 until I'm safely out of earshot, and they can shake their heads and say how sick I look and how awful it is.

The Anthro semester end party is tomorrow. Hope I feel better. Hell, I'd settle for just _looking_ like I felt better. I hate feeling uncomfortable in a crowd. That's so not me.

I don't want people watching me as I walk away and saying, 'That's Blair Sandburg. He's dying.' I want them to say, 'That's Blair Sandburg. Man, he's _living._ ' Okay, that sounds stupid, because no one in their right mind would say that, but you know what I mean. Sometimes it seems that all I am anymore is this illness. It colors everything in my whole life from what I eat to when I sleep, how people interact with me, _if_ they interact with me. It controls my daily schedule, controls _Jim's_ schedule, makes planning for _anything_ over three or four months away seem like I'm tempting fate. Emotionally, I'm all over the map, which I know rubs Jim the wrong way, being the millennium's poster boy for stoicism and all. 

It seems like a cruel twist of fate that if I really am dying, I spend the last part of my life as someone I never was when I was alive.

That makes no sense, but I'm tired and feeling sorry for myself. Hope Jim comes home soon.

* * *

Jim buttoned his pants and glared at Blair when the younger man offered a brightly covered vest. "I don't think so, Chief," Jim said, reaching for a blue button-down.

Blair made a face. "Cop," he said scornfully.

"Just because I don't dress like some circus clown, doesn't necessarily label me Gestapo," Jim said.

"Just trying to mix up your wardrobe a bit, man," Blair said. "Get you to branch out, you know?"

"You ashamed of me, Sandburg?" Jim asked with a teasing grin.

Blair grinned and shrugged. "Not ashamed, Big Guy, embarrassed maybe," he said, hightailing it downstairs when Jim growled and gave chase.

Jim easily caught him. "Who's a stud, Sandburg?" he taunted. "Who's a stud, huh?"

Jim picked Blair up and made like he was going to toss him on the couch. He would have pre-relapse. Instead, he gently set him down and crawled on top of him. "Who's a stud?" he whispered, face inches from Blair's. 

"I'm guessing the only way we're going to get to the party is if I say you," Blair said thoughtfully.

"Damn straight, Sandburg. Give it up. Who's a stud?"

"Even if I agree that you're a stud," Blair said, "And I said _if,_ that makes no mention--inferred or otherwise--about the way you dress. In fact, I'd be willing to argue that it could very well be in _spite_ of the way you dress."

"Shut up," said Jim, covering Blair's mouth with his own.

"Brute," Blair said when they had to breathe.

"That's almost like stud," Jim said. "I'll take it." He kissed Blair again, hard and insistent, then gently bit his earlobe and nibbled along his neck.

Blair laughed and groaned in the same breath. "Those vocabulary lessons are really paying off, huh?" he said, yelping when Jim bit him more forcefully.

"Smart ass," Jim said. He sat back on his haunches, Blair still trapped beneath him. "Let's stay home tonight."

Blair rolled his eyes at the older man. "You ever notice that when we're going out with _my_ friends, you try to seduce me into staying home? And every time we're going out with your friends, you ride my ass so we're not late?"

Jim grinned. "Seducing you, riding your ass, it's all one and the same, isn't it?"

"I only vaguely remember," Blair said wryly.

"I'll remind you," offered Jim with a hopeful smile.

"Unless you're planning on a slide show or something, I doubt that, Big Guy," Blair said with a smirk. "Come on, get up. We've gotta go."

"Aren't you even going to think about it?" Jim asked, acting gravely wounded. "You usually at least _think_ about it."

Blair sat up and pushed Jim off him. "Sorry, Big Guy, but this is the last chance I might have to see a lot of these guys, and..." Blair broke off at Jim's stricken look. "Oh, no, man, that's not what I meant," he said, reaching out to touch Jim's cheek. "It's an end- of-the-semester party. Some people are moving on, taking other positions. We do this every year, Jim, twice a year even. Kind of a send-off celebration."

Jim smiled, embarrassed, then covered it up with a long suffering sigh. "So there's no getting out of a boring faculty party, huh?"

"What boring?" Blair said. "Anthro _rocks,_ man, everyone knows that."

Jim groaned. "I oughta charge you two PD seminars for every faculty party," he said, slouching toward the door.

"Yeah, right," scoffed Blair. "Hey, Eric Forrester will be there. You can scope him out and do your Me Tarzan impression for the man."

Jim's eyes brightened so thoroughly, Blair burst out laughing. Though Jim had, of late, made more of an effort to spend time with Blair's friends from the University, he had never met Eric Forrester, whom Blair had dated shortly before meeting Jim. He tried to catch a glimpse of the man whenever he was at the U. but always seemed to have just missed him. On more than one occasion, Jim had accused Blair of inventing the guy to make him jealous, to which Blair replied in typical Sandburg fashion, "Like I have to invent somebody?"

Arriving at a comfortable Italian restaurant near the university, Jim eagerly accompanied Blair inside, and poked at him to point out Eric. Forrester was shorter than Jim, slighter, and dressed like he'd stepped off the cover of GQ. _Pretty boy,_ Jim scoffed in satisfaction, puffing his chest and sliding his arm around Blair's waist, content to sit back and watch Blair take command of the room.

Blair's effortless ability to draw people to him always amazed Jim, who was reticent to the point of withdrawal in most groups, much less a group in which he felt out of his element. If they were discussing the most recent Seinfeld episode, Jim would join right in, but when the talk turned to things like anthropological research into the concept of human social evolution, Jim was decidedly over his head. It wasn't like that for Blair. Whether dealing with grad students or grizzled detectives, Blair fit himself right in, more often than not becoming the focal point of the room.

Tonight was no different. A black bandanna tied rakishly around his head, eyes sparkling, laughing and talking a mile a minute, Blair was lighting up the room. Jim brought him some ginger ale, then slipped back to their table to watch him. He inadvertently picked up on a conversation or two. Laments about how skinny Blair was or the loss of his hair. Whispered wishes for his recovery. Comments about how hard it must be for the big cop in the corner, who, maybe you hadn't heard, was Blair's _lover._ Jim kind of liked that shocked double take people always did over the two of them. 

Eventually everyone found their way to their table. Orders for dinner were placed, then Susan Resnor, another teaching fellow, stood up and started tapping on her water glass with a fork.

"Okay, okay, quiet down everybody," called Susan. She waited for everyone to settle down before continuing. "Now, it was no shock that Blair was once again voted favorite prof in the Anth department..." Grunts, groans, and boos rose up from the crowd, while Blair stood and waved. 

"Just throw money!" he shouted over the catcalls.

"And as you know," Susan said, "it was my job this year to get my hands on the _unofficial_ Students' Choice awards for this semester. These are in no particular order, but here we go: Best Hair - Blair Sandburg, Best Eyes - Blair Sandburg, Most Kissable Lips - Blair Sandburg." The crowd started chanting along with Susan every time she revealed the winner of the category. "Wait, there's more, Most _Irresistible_ Throat - Blair Sandburg, Best Ass..." Blair winked at Jim as the crowd shouted, "Blair Sandburg!" 

Jim ruefully shook his head. "How many body parts do they vote on, Sandburg?" he asked.

Grinning widely, Blair shrugged and leaned into Jim's shoulder.

"And finally, in a new category opened up just this year - Most Fuckable Professor at Rainier University..." Laughter erupted around the room, and when Susan held her arms up, the entire room reverberated with, "Blair Sandburg!"

Blair was doubled over in the chair, laughing so hard he was gasping for air. He ducked the wadded up napkins heaved from his colleagues. "You're all just jealous!" he shouted to instant denials. The crowd moaned in unison as the waitress brought their salads.

Blair grinned at Jim who was shaking his head at the antics. "I _told_ you Anthro rocks!" Blair said.

"Why do I suddenly get the idea that a year in Borneo with this crowd would be ten times more dangerous than chasing after criminals in Cascade?"

Blair looked around, eyes twinkling. "Probably because you're right!" 

Jim watched the kid take two bites of a breadstick and push rigatoni noodles around on a plate. He sipped the ginger ale and paused roughly every ten seconds or so to talk to another admirer who knelt beside him and placed their hand on his thigh.

Jim could _sense_ the sadness as people came. Was it intuition? Empathy? Something more? Something to do with being a Sentinel? Were they saying good-bye to Blair? Some kind of permanent farewell because they didn't think he'd be around after the semester break? Did Blair sense their attitude as well?

As if sensing Jim's concern, Blair rested his hand on the detective's forearm, offering an absent-minded caress every once in awhile. As always, Blair's touch soothed Jim, and he found himself enjoying the evening, enjoying how normal it was to simply go out to eat with his lover and his friends.

Jim finished his ravioli and most of Blair's rigatoni before leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

Blair looked over at him. "Thanks for coming, Big Guy," he said, with a smile reserved for Jim and Jim alone. He stroked Jim's knee under the table and laughed when Jim caught his hand to stop his ministrations. "You can cut out if you're bored," he continued. "I can catch a ride home."

Jim stood up and pulled Blair with him, proud of the shocked surprise that flooded the younger man's face when Jim nudged him out to the dance floor. "And leave Rainier's Most Fuckable Professor here to fend for himself?" Jim asked incredulously. "I don't think so, Chief. I'm not letting you out of my sight for a few years."

Blair snuggled into Jim's hold. "Okay by me," he said.

They danced through the entire song, and then Blair stepped away from Jim and nearly burned the older man with the smoldering look in his eyes. "Let's go home, Big Guy."

"Tired?" Jim asked, fiddling with the ties of the bandanna.

Blair shook his head. "No," he said with a grin. "That's why I want to go home."

"Hot dog!" Jim said, flashing his eyebrows in perfect Sandburg fashion and eagerly trailed after the younger man as he said his good nights.

They were both well behaved during the drive home. No rolling blow jobs was a strictly enforced rule between the two after Jim nearly made Blair wreck the Corvair one summer evening. 

Once back home, Jim went over to the stereo and loaded the Bette Midler CD. Grinning widely, Blair shook his head at his lover. "You're getting all stereotypical on me, man!" he joked. "Next stop, the Gay Pride Parade, right?"

"Shut up," Jim ordered, tugging Blair into his embrace.

"Make me," Blair dared, head back, eyes glowing up at him.

"With pleasure," Jim whispered, devouring his lover's ample mouth. "God, you were so beautiful tonight. Everyone there wanted you."

Blair chuckled. "You're projecting again, Big Guy."

"No I'm not," Jim said. "The Sentinel sees all, hears all, knows all, remember?"

"Not the 'knows all' part, I don't."

"They weren't just watching you, they were coveting you," Jim said with a feral gleam in his blue eyes. "It makes me so hot to know how much they want you." Jim's hand slid down Blair's back to cup his ass, forcing their groins to rub together. "But I'm the only one who can touch you like this, lover. I'm the only one you give it up for. The only one you'll ever give it up for."

"You know it," Blair huffed. "I loved you being there with me tonight. It's always the same when we're together. Everybody always shakes their heads and wonders what in the hell I did to land you." 

Jim was peeling Blair's clothes off, layer by layer, thinking amusedly to himself that it was like those Russian nesting dolls. "Oh yeah, that's nice," he said in a husky voice when the last t- shirt was removed, revealing Blair's golden skin. "You really are the most fuckable man I've ever known," Jim said, his eyes teasing.

Blair laughed as he unbuttoned Jim's shirt and slid it off his broad shoulders. "Man, I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

Jim shook his head. "No need to, Baby. You can't fight the truth." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss over one eye, then the other. "You do have the most beautiful eyes," he whispered. "And the most irresistible throat." He nibbled on that irresistible throat for a minute before undoing Blair's jeans and stripping them off him. "And your lips, Chief. Those lips are definitely the most kissable lips I know." Jim proved his point by thoroughly kissing those lips. Blair divested him of his slacks while they necked, and as his erection sprang free, Jim ground it against Blair's side. When they broke apart, Jim slowly walked around, holding Blair's shoulders so the younger man wouldn't turn with him. Jim knelt down, and ran both hands up and over Blair's bare ass. "Oh, yeah," he sighed, head back, eyes closed. "But your ass... Sandburg, your ass is the finest thing I've ever seen in my life. Nations crumble for an ass as beautiful as this." 

Blair jumped when Jim's soft lips kissed one cheek and then the other. Jim's tongue briefly slipped into the hollow, traveling lightly from one side to the other. Then, with a sigh, Jim wrapped his strong arms around Blair's waist, pressing his face to Blair's back. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Blair answered vaguely.

Jim kissed his way up to a standing position, running his warm hands down Blair's arms, and lacing his fingers through Blair's. "Come with me, Baby," he said softly and led Blair up to their bed. Jim stopped and leaned against the railing, watching intently as Blair tossed pillows to the floor and drew back the covers. "Get in," Jim said, when Blair turned to see what he was doing. 

Blair climbed onto the bed and laid back, flushing as Jim's eyes moved up and down his body. Jim smiled, remembering that when he'd asked Blair once if it bothered him the way Jim stared at him, Blair had shaken his head and said, "Man, you've _never_ been ogled until you've been ogled by a Sentinel."

Jim eventually pushed off the railing and joined his lover in bed. He sighed as he began traversing with sensitive fingertips the body he knew so well. Twice he felt Blair's erection rise and fall against him. Blair whimpered in frustration and ground more insistently against Jim.

Jim remained calm and slow, tasting Blair's body from end to end, enjoying their closeness as much as anything else, enjoying their sheer existence. This was life. Here, now, in this bed at that moment they were alive and loving one another, and it would have to be enough. It would have to be enough because maybe it was all they were going to get.

Blair arched up into Jim's hand, his mounting frustration palpable between them. "Shit!" he muttered when his erection was lost again. "Shit, shit, shit!" 

Jim soothed him with gentle kisses and smooth strokes of his large hands. "Relax, Blair," he whispered. "Just relax." Blair took a deep breath and let it go, refusing to meet Jim's eyes for a moment. "It's just the meds," Jim reminded him.

"But I want...I want to come for you," Blair whispered.

Jim's cock jumped at the words, and a gust of air forcefully left his lungs. "Oh I want that, too, Baby. God I want that too. I love the taste of you, the feel of you coming inside me, giving me part of yourself. You know I love it, Baby, but it's okay for now, like this. Just let me love you, okay? Let me love you, and we'll worry about the rest later."

"But you can't love me like you want to," Blair said sadly. "This is so unfair! I can't...I can't give you _anything_ right now!"

"That's not true," Jim denied. He grabbed Blair's hand and held it tight against his erection. "Do you feel that? I've been hard for you since you walked through the door at that bar. Since every head turned and every temperature in the place spiked at the sight of your sexy ass." Jim undulated against his lover. "This is what you do to me, Blair. Through all the shit that's goin' on right now, this is what you do to me. And it's all for you, Lover. Every drop of it's for you."

"I want you to have everything," Blair answered. "I want to give you everything."

"I've got what I want right here, Baby," Jim said, opening his mouth wide to the younger man. He groaned, a sound of unrestrained desire. "Oh yeah baby," he whispered, as Blair's hand tightened around his penis. "Ohhhhh, God, that's it." Blair was massaging his dick, tip to base and back again, rough, ferocious almost. Jim moaned again, shoving himself against him. "That's right, Baby. Oh God, that's right. I'll come for both of us. Shit! Shit! That's great, Baby! Fuck that's great! Every time you touch me, oh God, every touch it's fucking perfect!"

With a loud cry, Jim released himself, and he and Blair ended up laughing at the prodigious amount of ejaculate. "I told you I'd come for both of us," Jim said proudly.

Blair shook his head, exasperation and laughter still in his eyes. "Yeah, and who reaps the wet spot for that little performance, hmm?"

Jim lifted Blair on top of him, settling him against his chest. "How's that, then?" he asked.

"Mmm, nice," Blair purred, and licked and kissed along Jim's jawline in thanks. 

"You're the beautiful one, you know," Blair said, and if Jim didn't know better he would say the kid was acting _shy._ "You look... perfect." He sighed happily at the word, but Jim snorted.

"Oh yeah, balding, middle aged..."

"Totally buff, ripped from head to toe, hung like a stallion..." Blair wiggled against Jim as he made his list

Jim smiled, embarrassed at how very pleased it made him to hear Blair say such things. "Hey, don't stop," he said when Blair paused to smile knowingly at his reaction.

"Mmm, and modest," Blair teased. "I forgot to mention how amazingly modest you are." He sucked on Jim's neck, at the curve of his shoulder, grinning at Jim's grunts of pleasure.

"Oh yeah, baby, right there," Jim said, one big hand on Blair's thigh so he could shove the man over and provide pressure against his aching cock. "Christ, what you do to me," he groaned.

"I wish I could do more," Blair said with a sigh.

"It's enough," Jim said. "Right now, it's enough."

Blair shook his head but said nothing for awhile. Jim felt him drifting to sleep and with a soft smile, repositioned him more comfortably. Blair made a noise and gripped Jim tightly, as if afraid his lover was going to leave him. Jim rubbed his back soothingly and kissed his head. "Go back to sleep," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Continued in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Continued from part two. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part three 

The Taggart Spring Fling was legendary within the Cascade Police Department. Held the first Saturday of Spring come rain or shine, or, as was often the case, feet of snow, the Fling was an outdoor barbecue to herald the arrival of spring in the Pacific Northwest.

The morning of the fling dawned cold and gray, and even before Blair threw up, Jim was thinking they should beg off attending. The weather was shitty, and Blair had hardly ventured out of bed since chemo three days earlier. But he'd been talking about the picnic for days now. Hell, _everybody_ had been talking about it for the last couple of weeks. 

Blair rarely showed up at the station anymore. A few of the guys found their way to the loft now and then--Ryf and Henri and Joel-- but Blair was really looking forward to seeing the entire crew, not to mention their kids. Blair was something of a legend himself where the kids were concerned.

Jim had left Blair alone in the bathroom, but when he heard the dry heaves start, he poured a glass of ginger ale and took it in with him. Jim set the glass down on the counter and ran a washcloth under the faucet.

"Maybe I should call Joel," Jim said as he gently wiped Blair's face.

The kid shook his head, once, but paled even further and stopped. "No," he said plaintively. "I want to go."

"I know you want to go, Blair, but how much fun are you going to have if you're in the bathroom puking the whole time?"

"I'll feel better," he promised.

"You still have a temperature," Jim said. 

"I always have a temperature!" Blair groused.

"It looks like it's going to rain."

"It _always_ looks like it's going to rain," answered Blair.

Jim sighed. "I don't know, Kiddo, all those people, all those kids-- it's not really safe with your platelets so low."

"I want to go," Blair whined.

Another sigh from Jim, this one exaggerated and for effect. "And what Sandburg wants," he said with finality.

Blair grinned. "I got you, didn't I?"

"Only 'cause no one else wanted me," Jim said wryly.

Blair slowly shook his head. "Everyone wanted you," he said. "Just not as much as I did."

Jim met Blair's grin. "And I just thought it was 'cause you lost the toss," he said. 

"No way, man. I came out on top on this one." He made his eyebrows dance and chuckled when Jim rolled his eyes.

"Will you at least rest up this morning?" Jim asked, helping Blair to stand and steering him towards the bedroom.

"Will you rest with me?" 

"Will you _rest?_ "

"Will you quit asking me questions?"

"Will you?"

Blair laughed as Jim pushed him into bed then crawled in after him. "We oughta take this act out on the road, Big Guy," he said in a drowsy voice.

"And have to fight off that many more groupies?" Jim asked. "I don't think so, Chief. I've got all I can handle right here in Cascade."

* * *

Later that day, Jim walked behind Blair to the back yard, one hand securely at the younger man's back. Jim smiled at the excited shouts from the children when Blair came into view. The Pied Piper of Cascade was quickly dragged away by Patty and Beth Taggart, who announced to the other kids that since it was _their_ house, they got to be in charge of Blair.

Jim chuckled and concentrated on icing down the beer they'd brought so he wouldn't have to face anyone just yet. The worst thing about taking Blair out in public was being forced to look at him through the eyes of those who didn't see him every day. The shock and sadness never failed to jar him out of whatever complacency he'd managed to achieve.

He was glad they'd come. Glad Blair felt up to it. The kid had slept pretty much all morning. Jim had to wake him to get ready to go, but Blair had been excited and animated.

Intent on watching Blair romping with the kids, Jim didn't hear Amanda Taggart approach, nor was he aware of her standing silently at his side for a time. "I was so sorry to hear Blair was sick again," she said finally.

Jim turned, a sad smile on his face. "Thanks, Amanda."

"Sometimes I can't believe we've only known Blair a year or so," Amanda said, smiling at the shrieks of laughter from her daughters.

Jim's smile became more genuine. "Kind of moves right in and makes himself part of the family, doesn't he?"

Amanda laughed ruefully. "I'd be embarrassed at how quickly we fell, but any young man who can wrap both Simon Banks _and_ Jim Ellison around his little finger is too formidable for little old _me_ to fight." 

Jim laughed out loud, slightly flushed, but knowing better than to make even the most token of protests.

Amanda leaned over and kissed Jim's cheek. "I want you to know we're praying for him. And for you, Jim."

"Thank you," Jim said softly. "That means a lot to me."

Jim moved over to where the officers from Major Crimes were huddled together. He traded wisecracks, exclaimed over growing kids and beautiful wives, and kept most of his senses tuned to Blair.

Jim had started to notice that whenever he and Blair did something outside of their normal routine, Blair often became upset. Nothing very overt, nothing even that his Sentinel senses picked up, it was more the knowledge of one lover for another. 

Every once in awhile at the picnic, Jim caught a look on Blair's face--a brief snapshot that was part terror, part panic, as if he was afraid whatever he was doing, it was for the last time.

It was easy enough to see the kids were exhausting him. Hell, even completely healthy, a bunch of screaming, jabbering kids tended to wear on Jim. When it was time to eat, Jim hustled Blair out from amid the melee and headed for the grill.

They sat down at one of the picnic tables, and Jim pretended to ignore Blair's disapproving look at the thick, juicy burger on his plate. "Hey, it's a cook-out," Jim said when it looked like Blair was going to say something. The younger man sighed tragically and shrugged. Jim broke a roll apart and set half of it on the empty paper plate in front of Blair. "Eat that," he ordered. Most of the barbecue fare--fruit, green salad, baked beans, and potato salad-- was too much for Blair's digestive tract, but Jim managed to find a cup of yogurt. He opened the lid and stuck a plastic spoon in it. "You want ginger ale, Seven Up, milk, water..." Jim ticked off the drinks Sandburg could have.

Blair stared forlornly at the bottle of beer by Jim's plate. "Ginger ale, I guess," he said, noting the inflexible look on Jim's face. Jim hopped up to grab the can of soda. He opened it and poured some into a cup. 

Blair watched bemusedly as Jim tried to flatten his burger enough to actually bite into. "What's on there?" he asked finally.

"Nothing," Jim said around a mouthful. "Just the usual, cheese, tomato, onion, lettuce, pickle, ketchup, mayo, mustard..."

"You're gonna load up on all that red meat, you'd think you'd want to taste it," Blair said. "Aw, jeez, and it's still mooing, Jim! Man, we're gonna be spending Sunday having your stomach pumped somewhere."

Jim just chuckled, taking another gigantic bite. "Wan' some?" he asked.

Blair quickly shook his head and proceeded to tear up his roll into smaller pieces.

"I saw some applesauce over there," Jim said, when Blair started dribbling the yogurt amidst the crumbs of bread, creating a modern art piece on his plate. "Can you eat some of that?"

The younger man shrugged, but looked suddenly sheepish, as if realizing he was setting a poor example for the children. Jim returned with a cup of applesauce and another plastic spoon and a different kind of roll. He tossed the Rembrandt in the trash and put a clean plate in front of the younger man. "Eat," he ordered.

Simon and Darryl sat down at the table, each with identical burgers. "Ah, not you too, buddy!" Blair said with a grin. "I thought we had a dialogue going, man!"

"Not like it's _tongue_ or anything," Darryl said, opening his mouth wide. "Now _that's_ gross, man!"

"But nutritionally sound," Blair pointed out.

"But it's _tongue!_ " Darryl said.

"But it's good for you."

"But it's..."

"This could go on for hours," Simon said to Jim, who shrugged and nodded his agreement.

But Blair and Darryl were off on another topic. Tryouts for the baseball team were a week away, and Darryl thought he had a chance of making the varsity team, a real honor for a sophomore.

Finishing up their own food, the children were ready to play once more. They gathered around Blair, pestering him to hurry and finish eating so they could play. Jim winked at Blair when the kids kept asking _Jim_ if Blair could be excused.

"Play nice," Jim said when Blair stood up to leave.

"Fuck you," Blair kindly replied, for Sentinel ears only.

Blair organized a rowdy game of soccer, then another of first bounce or fly. When Jim saw him shakily make his way over to a picnic bench and sit down, he went over and joined him.

"You want to go home?" Jim asked in a quiet voice.

Blair shook his head, leaning heavily against Jim. "It's a good tired," he said softly.

"You made their day, you know that?" Jim said, his voice sounding almost surprised. 

"They're good kids," Blair said with a fond smile. "Fun, you know?"

"I think I'll file that under 'if you say so...' "

Blair laughed. "Tell me again how the two of us ended up together," he said.

Jim shrugged and gently bumped against Blair. "Aw, you say potayto, I say potahto."

Blair briefly laid his head down on Jim's shoulder. "Today was really nice, Jim. Thanks."

"Yeah, it was nice," Jim agreed. "Time to go now, though, okay?"

Blair nodded wearily, but made no move to stand until Jim took hold of his elbow.

Jim walked slowly, keeping to Blair's pace as they made their way to the truck. Blair sighed, almost imperceptibly when they stopped at the passenger side door. Jim opened it and waited, feigning interest in the other families loading up their vans, while Blair used him as a boost to get in the seat. He fumbled with the seat belt, finally managing to fasten it without Jim's help. He was breathing heavy when Jim jumped in and slammed his door closed.

"Okay?" Jim asked, tightly gripping the wheel to keep from reaching over to check Blair's temperature.

Blair nodded. "We're going home, right?" he asked worriedly.

Jim wondered where else Blair thought they might be headed, but he reached over and gently squeezed the younger man's thigh. "That's right," he said softly and winced at Blair's sigh of relief.

Jim drove home, resisting the urge to flip on the siren. Shit, he should have trusted his initial instinct and insisted Blair stay home today. The day was too much for him. It was just too much. His fever was up now, and there was a gray tinge to his skin that hadn't been there this morning. Blair groaned when Jim hit a pot hole. Jim grimaced. "Sorry, sorry," he said, squeezing Blair's shoulder. "Almost home, Kiddo. You okay?" 

No answer from Blair, who gripped the door handle so tightly his knuckles were white.

Jim helped the kid inside, cringing when he took off for the bathroom and promptly vomited. Jim followed him and knelt down next to him, rubbing his back in comfort.

"Don't let the kids see," Blair rasped, gripping Jim's arm with surprising strength. 

Jim swallowed hard. "Sweetheart, we're at home. There's no one here but you and me."

"I don't want anyone to see me," Blair whispered, curling into Jim's chest. "Don't let them see me."

Careful not to exert undue pressure on the younger man, Jim brought his arms around him in a protective embrace. "I won't," he promised in a whisper. "I take care of you, remember?" Blair nodded drowsily, but all too soon, his body stiffened. He groaned as Jim repositioned him over the toilet and the vomiting began again.

_The day **had** been too much for him,_ Jim thought with a twinge of guilt, but somehow the memory of Blair's shining, smiling face completely overshadowed the sound of retching now filling the loft.

* * *

Blair was feverish and unresponsive when Jim woke him up the next morning. Without reaching for the thermometer, Jim knew his temperature hovered close to 104, which indicated something other than the normal low-grade fever resulting from chemo.

Blair groaned and pushed away Jim's hand. "Tired," he mumbled.

"I know, Baby," Jim said quietly. "I think you're sick, though. We'd better run by the hospital this morning."

There was no reply from Blair. Jim gently shook his shoulder. "Don't!" Blair cried, coughing on a sob. "Sleep."

"We'll just run in the hospital real quick," Jim said, knowing it was a lie. McVey would admit Blair if there was an infection, which undoubtedly there was.

Blair shook his head, curling into a fetal ball on his side. Jim sighed and jogged downstairs for a quick shower. He kept his hearing tuned to the bedroom, but other than Blair's slightly subdued heartbeat, there was nothing amiss.

But when he hurried back upstairs, he found Blair lying on his back, eyes opened, but looking odd. His coloring was a terrible shade of gray, and he moved listlessly, as if he didn't have any strength in his limbs. The smell of urine assaulted Jim's nose, and his eyes watered at the stench.

"Blair?" he said, coming closer, alarmed that Blair had wet himself. "Damn, Sweetheart, why didn't you call me, I would have heard you!" Jim said.

Blair arched his back and moaned, a strange, labored sound like he was being crushed. He coughed, spitting up and gagging on the thick liquid rising in his throat. 

"Blair?" Jim's voice was quiet this time, confused and frightened all at once.

Blair moaned again and then his body stiffened like he'd been shocked, and he began violently convulsing.

Jim watched, helpless, nauseated himself, as Blair flailed, choking for the next breath and the next. He vomited a white, milky substance that ran down the sides of his mouth and puddled under his shoulders. By the time the convulsion ended, his lips were blue from lack of oxygen.

It was the single, most horrifying thing the ex-military man had ever seen.

Moaning miserably, Blair curled over onto his side and lay absolutely still; not awake but not unconscious either.

Jim grabbed the phone and dialed 911, barking his address into the phone. "You with me, Chief?" he asked loudly, rolling Blair onto his back and lightly slapping his cheeks. Blair's eyes were half-opened, heavy and unseeing. He moaned as if Jim's touch hurt him, and Jim flinched away.

Blair cried out suddenly, sheer terror on his face, and another seizure ripped through him. This time it ended with Blair limp and unconscious. 

Jim swallowed against the panic, resisting the urge to throw Blair in the truck and take him to the hospital himself. Only the fear of Blair having a seizure while Jim was driving held him back. And then there was a knock at the door, and Jim hollered for the EMT's to come in, and they did.

Jim started to explain about the seizure when one of the techs interrupted him. "Sir, is he HIV positive or is this full blown AIDS?" she asked, checking Blair's airway.

"What?" Jim asked, thoroughly confused. 

"Is the patient being treated for HIV or AIDS, sir?" the tech asked again.

"No!" he said loudly. "It's not AIDS!" He tore through the papers on the night stand, looking for the information sheet McVey had given him. "It's...he's got... lymphoma," Jim struggled to explain, thrusting the sheet of paper at the EMT. "He's undergoing chemo and radiation."

The EMT quickly read through the sheet, nodding at her partner. "We're okay for transport," she said. "Sir, would you like to follow us to the hospital?"

Jim stared oddly at the woman before slowly nodding his assent. But as the EMT's hustled Blair out the door and into the ambulance, Jim simply stood where he was.

"He doesn't have AIDS," he whispered to the empty loft. "It's not AIDS."

As if the distinction mattered. 

* * *

By the time Jim got to the hospital, Blair had been examined, admitted and cleaned up. McVey had been paged, and in the meantime, the attending physician diagnosed a blood infection. Blair was already on an IV being dosed with antibiotics.

Still shaking, Jim let himself in Blair's hospital room. He smiled gently at the younger man, and slipped his hand into Blair's. "Hey there, Baby. You okay?"

"Am I going to have another seizure?" Blair asked, gazing up at Jim with troubled eyes.

"I don't think so," Jim said, wiping the dampness from Blair's forehead.

Blair wasn't convinced. He looked around the room in growing agitation. "It's all...it's all mixed up again."

"You need to stay calm," Jim said, making sure his own voice was soothing and slow. "You've got a blood infection, Sweetheart. You have a fever, and that's making you feel confused."

"Is my mom here?"

"No, she's not," said Jim. "Do you want me to call her?"

Blair seemed confused by the question. "Call her," he repeated the phrase.

"I can call her if you want me to."

"Simon knows I'm sick, right?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, he knows," Jim replied. He bent down to kiss Blair's forehead, but the gesture didn't register with the kid, who looked suddenly very sad.

"And Darryl," Blair remembered. 

Jim sighed, remembering the night they broke the news to Simon's son. Darryl had taken it badly. The fifteen-year-old looked stricken and reacted with anger, jumping up from the table and locking himself in his room. Jim and Simon waited downstairs while Blair patiently coaxed Darryl into opening the door and letting him in so they could talk. 

Simon had shrugged apologetically at Jim. "He really likes the kid," he explained. "Looks up to him."

Jim had quickly shaken his head and held up a hand to cut Simon off. "Simon, I'm the last man in the world you have to excuse Darryl's reaction to."

Of course, Blair had worked his magic on the kid. Convinced him to let him in his room, talked to him about the treatment he would undergo and the doctor's thoughts on his prognosis. He had even managed to get the kid to laugh at a couple of his lame jokes, all good-natured digs at his father. Typical Blair, somehow putting everyone at ease with his illness, making _them_ feel better about it.

"I'm hurting everyone," Blair said now, frowning. "I'm sorry I keep hurting everyone..."

"You're not hurting anyone," Jim soothed. "It's just...no one likes it that you're sick."

Blair nodded. "When will I be better?" He asked as if Jim had mentioned it before, and he simply misplaced the date.

Jim smiled. "Soon. You'll be better soon."

"Am I at home?"

"No, you're in the hospital," Jim answered.

"I think I should go home," Blair said, struggling upright.

"I think you'd better stay put," said Jim.

"We always do what _you_ want," Blair grumped.

Jim chuckled. "Blair Sandburg, even sick and scatter-brained you know that's not true," he scolded good-naturedly.

It took a second, but then Blair smiled at him, all sheepish little boy, and Jim felt his lungs actually inflating the next time he took a breath.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal: 

First entry in three days. Guess I've been pretty sick. Man, do I feel lousy! Some kind of blood infection. Everything aches, and it's hard to think, and I keep forgetting what's going on. Jim says I had a seizure at home. I don't really remember, but he's looked shell-shocked since I got here, reluctant to leave my room, my side. Gotta feel sorry for the guy--one minute I'm holding on to him for dear life, the next I feel trapped and suffocated and I'm barking at him to leave me alone. Maybe I'll call Simon later, see if he can't get Jim out of my hair (figuratively speaking, of course) for a little while.

Brown and Ryf stopped in over their lunch hour, and we had a couple of laughs. The second he walked through the door, Brown said, "Hoo boy, you look like shit, my brother," which totally cheered me up. Right now, Jim's watching the Jags game and yelling at the players in between trying to get me to eat the shit they're calling dinner. I'm too nauseated to sleep, much less eat. Guess I'll ask for a sleeping pill after Jim goes. Taking the pills makes me feel like I'm giving in. I'm just so tired right now.

Bob Pfeiffer dropped by a little while ago, said he wanted to bounce some ideas off me for the next semester. The relationship Bob and I have is a lot different from the one Hal and I had. I thought leaving to get my MA as U of Washington in Seattle would help, but even after I came back to Ranier, Hal still saw me as the smart ass 17-year-old I was when I first got here (scary thought). Bob seems to really value my professional opinion. It's nice to have a relationship where I'm not "the kid." He hinted that after I get my doctorate, there might be an assistant chair position for me, a totally awesome thought, considering I won't be 30 yet. If this stupid lymphoma wasn't fucking everything up, I'd be even younger. Not that it really matters, I guess, just some of that wunderkind drive still around. 

Jim's eyes glaze over every time I try to talk to him about my career path at the U. I try to tell him that most professors transfer universities at least once, but I don't think he hears. Well, I don't think he listens. I used to think that was because he didn't understand the way it works in the university world. Now, sometimes, I think it's because it's all a moot point anyway.

I mean, I've got to get my doctorate if I want to take the tenure track, and I've kind of got to be alive to get my doctorate, so...

Shit, that's not fair. I notice myself doing that a lot now--talking about dying. It's a not-so-subtle way to manipulate Jim, make him hurt because I'm feeling cross or cruel or both. Sometimes I feel like I'm looking for the dig that finally does him in, that last straw that makes him say, 'Okay, Junior, it's over and done with, and I am out of here.' 

* * *

Blair was just ordering Jim to leave the hospital for awhile and get something to eat when Jim heard a pack of footsteps approaching.

"Hey guys!" Jim said softly, surprised by the number of people crowded in the doorway--Brown and his wife Jackie, Ryf and his girlfriend Rachael, Joel Taggart, and Simon.

"I've ordered in the reserves," Simon said. "Joel and I are taking you out for a steak dinner."

"Hallelujah," Blair said weakly. "New blood!" He motioned everybody in, then smiled at the very pregnant Jackie. "Jackie, you shouldn't be hanging around all these sick people!" he admonished.

Jackie laughed as she clumsily bent down to kiss Blair's cheek. "I'm taking Baby Brown over to the nursery before we leave," she said. "See if I can't talk 'em into joining the world!"

"Come on, Babe," Brown said. "No need to rush things here."

"Rush things?!" Jackie said incredulously. "You go three months without seeing your feet and THEN tell me we're rushing things!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Brown hurriedly replied, holding up his hands to ward off further comments.

"Man, you married an insensitive _lout,_ " Blair teased. "When are you going to wise up and leave him for me?"

Jackie carefully sat down in the chair Jim had vacated. She smiled at the detective. "Hmm, I have an idea that might just tick off the wrong kind of people, Honey," she said.

Blair winked at Jackie, then looked her husband up and down. "I could take him," he said confidently.

"Now wait a second," Rachael chimed in. "So, Jackie gets Blair and I'm stuck with Ryf?"

"Stuck?" Ryf echoed indignantly.

"Ladies, ladies, there's enough of me to go around," Blair said.

"Oh no, I'm not sharing!" Jackie said.

"You guys got room for two more at the steak house?" Ryf asked.

Jim laughed and pointed at his lover. "You behave yourself," he ordered. "I don't want to be beeped at the restaurant because some brawl broke out." Then he pointed to Jackie and Rachael. "And I want him in one piece when I get back here, understand?"

"Perfectly," Jackie said, with a smile. 

Jim grabbed his coat and with a more serious look on his face, said, "I won't be gone long." He checked his watch. "I'm sure I'll be back, but just in case, McVey will be by between eight and nine, and then you'll get a shot between nine and ten..."

"Go to dinner," Blair waved Jim toward the door. "Shoo already."

"Thanks guys," Jim said to Simon and Joel as they walked to the parking lot.

Simon grinned. "Yeah, well, we figured you might need a break...Well, actually, we figured _Sandburg_ needed a break, but the only way to do that was to get you out of there for a few hours."

"Why am I suddenly wondering what you two talk about during your lunch 'meetings?'" Jim asked.

Simon shrugged. "I've been on a stakeout with you, Ellison. I know what it's like to be cooped up with you for hour after endless hour."

"Ouch, Sir," Jim said. "You hear the way he talks to me, Joel?" Jim asked. "Maybe I oughta transfer over to the bomb squad where I'll be appreciated."

Joel sadly shook his head. "You forget, Jim. I've been on a stakeout with you too!"

Once they got to the restaurant and sat down, Joel nodded to Jim. "So, how's the kid doing?" he asked.

Jim shrugged. "Not great," he said quietly. "They restarted chemo this morning, and he had a pretty rough day of it."

"Any idea when he can go home?" 

Jim shook his head. "They want to finish the chemo in the hospital instead of as an outpatient since we had so much trouble with the blood infection. We're looking at at least another month, and that's only if he stays healthy." Jim shrugged at the irony of his words. "Well, you know what I mean. Relatively healthy."

"The girls hate it that they can't come visit," Joel said with a smile. "Ah! Which reminds me. I've got a car full of drawings for Blair. They'll have my hide if I don't give them to the kid."

Jim enjoyed the dinner, but after an hour or so, he began to feel antsy. What if Blair got sick while Brown and Ryf and the others were there? The kid would be mortified. He still didn't much like the _nurses_ lending him a hand. Besides, Jim was really the only one who knew how to help him correctly.

But by the time they got back to the hospital, the Browns and Ryf and Rachael were sitting out in the lobby, and Blair was asleep. And Jim, his belly full, but his heart suddenly empty, felt oddly cheated. He smiled at his friends, though, and thanked them for the generosity of their time. Then he slipped in Blair's darkened room and sat, brooding, late into the night.

* * *

Jim knew by the set of Blair's shoulders that he hadn't had a good night. He was tensed, ready to spring, and Jim knew he might as well have a giant bull's-eye painted on his back.

Biting back a sigh, Jim put on his game face and smiled brightly at the younger man. "Hey Baby, brought you some breakfast," he said, pulling out some orange juice and a bran muffin.

"I'm not hungry," Blair said in greeting.

Jim took the lid off the OJ and held it out to Blair. "Come on, drink some," he coaxed.

"I don't want it!" Blair said petulantly and pushed Jim's hand away, sloshing orange juice down the front of the detective's shirt. Jim sighed and grit his teeth and said nothing as he snatched up a napkin and wiped the shirt off.

"You need the liquid, Blair," he said, his tone extra kind, his inner thoughts anything but.

"It hurts! I'm not drinking it!" Blair said, the grinning, jovial man from the day before a distant memory.

"Fine," Jim said. "How about some water or milk?"

"No!" Blair said and rolled over away from Jim.

_He's sick,_ Jim reminded himself as he tidied up the room. They'd discontinued the chemo that morning because Blair's temperature was over 102, another infection. He'd had an uncomfortable night tossing and turning, according to his chart, not that Jim needed the chart to tell him that.

"Jim, stop it!" Blair said, rolling back over to glare at him.

"What?" Jim asked in exasperation.

"You keep bumping into the bed."

"I'm sorry," Jim said gently. "I'll pay more attention, okay?"

"Don't you have to go to work?" Blair irritably asked.

"Yeah, in a little while," Jim replied, his _thank God,_ unspoken but there in his tone nonetheless.

"Don't let me stop you," Blair muttered, and Jim almost laughed at his little boy pout. It really was endearing in a can't-kill-him-so-I- might-as-well-love-him kind of way.

Jim filled a cup with ice chips and placed it on the tray in front of Blair. "Here, eat these. It'll make your mouth feel better."

Blair grudgingly took the cup and champed on a few pieces of ice, watching Jim with a frown on his face. "I don't know why I still have to be here," Blair complained. "It's not like I can't lie around at home. It's all a fucking racket--the doctors and the insurance companies and the hospitals..."

Jim refrained from sighing, much less speaking, knowing Blair would just as soon heave the ice toward his head as actually eat it.

Blair dropped the cup suddenly, the ice clattering noisily on the metal tray. Shit!" Blair gasped, curling up in a ball, grasping at his temples. "Oh shit, make it stop, now! Make it stop!"

The headache that came and went throughout the day was obviously back with a vengeance. Jim tried to pry Blair's hand from his head, but the younger man cried out and curled further into himself. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "Oh God, just make it stop!"

Jim reached for the call button on the bed and pressed it, trying to hold Blair down.

"No! I have to sit! I have to...have to get up!" Blair moaned, struggling upright. On his hands and knees, he rocked forward, rapping his head against the wall. 

"Christ! Blair!" Jim yelled, dragging him away from the wall.

"No!" Blair shouted. "I have to get up! I have to move!"

Two nurses hurried in the room, one of them ordering an injection which was promptly administered. With a groan, Blair collapsed on the bed and stopped fighting. Breathing heavy, sweating and moaning under his breath, Blair was settled back on the pillows.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, reaching blindly for Jim's arm. "It hurt. I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Jim said, wiping Blair's forehead.

Blair sighed in relief, tentatively arching his back as if checking to make sure the pain really was going away. He fought the sedative for a moment, forcing his eyes open and trying to shrug out of Jim's soothing pets.

"Home," he grunted. "Go home."

Jim nodded and continued to coax Blair to sleep, half-wondering if his words were a request or an order. Once Blair was soundly asleep, Jim wandered out to the truck and drove to the office, unable to think of anything else to do.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

My mouth is killing me. The chemo's causing sores in my mouth. Swallowing is a bitch. McVey thinks there's some intestinal ulcers as well. Jim was here, but I was a shit all morning. I feel awful and he's so damn perfect about everything, it's bugging the crap out of me. They stopped the chemo because I'm sick again. I can't work up the energy to care one way or the other, but Jim doesn't look happy about it. He must think I'm such a wuss, getting sick like this, then being such a stupid crybaby about it. Probably wishes he'd never gotten mixed up with me...probably wishes he'd stuck to women and not longevity challenged grad students.

I'm so tired of all of this. I'm tired of feeling like shit and I'm tired of being poked and prodded like I'm not even a real person, just some medical training tool. I'm tired of waking up when they tell me to wake up and sleeping when they tell me to sleep, of eating what they say to eat when they say to eat it. I'm tired of my life no longer being my own. I'm tired of puking every other second. I'm tired of being tired. I've had terrible headaches the last few days. I want to smash my head against something to make it stop hurting, and it's kind of scared the crap out of me a little bit. Why is this happening to me? Is there a reason? Am I supposed to be able to identify it? I'm tired of not knowing. 

They upped the dosage of painkillers I'm getting. When it doesn't hurt I feel all disconnected, I can't think, and when I can finally put two thoughts together I feel like shit.

I guess I'm supposed to be all brave and noble and hopeful through all this shit, but I'm not. I resent the idea that I have to be. Maybe this is who I really am. Maybe I never was that positive, upbeat guy I _thought_ I was. Maybe the real me is childish and selfish and cowardly.

Jim's probably counting down the days until I'm gone. He's probably breathing a sigh of relief to know he's not stuck with me for much longer. Who can blame him?

* * *

Blair was holding court when Jim dropped by after work. Susan Resnor and several others from the Anthropology department at Rainier were entertaining--or rather being entertained by--the younger man, who smiled sunnily at his lover. His pupils were dilated and Jim recognized the sluggishness of a recent morphine injection. Jim hung up his coat and tossed the magazines he'd bought at lunch on the coffee table. He gauged Blair's temperature at almost 104, then excused himself to the bathroom until he could control the urge to kick everyone out. Jim washed his hands and splashed some water on his face, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, inhaling through his nose, exhaling through the mouth. He felt only marginally embarrassed to find everyone packing up and saying their good-byes when he rejoined them.

Blair watched his friends leave before turning his drowsy eyes on Jim. "Hey," he said, the animation quickly draining from his features.

"Hey," Jim said, kissing the top of Blair's head. "How's it goin'?"

"Okay," Blair answered. "Sorry I was such a dick this morning."

Jim grinned. "Sorry I was so charming to your friends when I came in."

Blair carefully rolled over onto his side. "Mm, we deserve each other, don't we?"

"You got that right," Jim agreed. "Your head still hurt?"

"Not so much now. They gave me another shot before Susan and those guys got here."

"You probably want to go to sleep, then, huh?"

"Guess so," Blair muttered, kicking at the covers. He looked confused for a moment and then agitated. "Maybe you...maybe you'd better talk to me for awhile," he said, worried. 

Jim laid his hand on Blair's forehead and leaned in close as he straightened up the sheets. "Maybe I should," he said gently. "Relax, Baby. Lay back and close your eyes."

Blair shook his head. "I want to come home, man. When can I come home?"

"Couple more weeks," Jim said. "McVey wants two more chemo treatments under your belt."

"Oh man!" Blair said, tears gathering in his eyes.

Jim hitched a chair closer with his foot, still caressing Blair's forehead. "Hey, cool thing happened with my senses today," Jim said, and thought once again, how the mention of his senses was like the ringing of the dinner bell to Pavlov's dogs. Blair's eyes instantly brightened and he stilled his restless movements.

"Something cool?" he said. "What?"

"Well, you know how we did that piggyback thing with hearing and sight? So today, we're in one of those warehouses over by the harbor--one of Harbor Boat Rentals petty drug dealers was holed up there--so there's like, 150 heart beats in there, and the cops have just rushed the place and told them there's a fugitive running around so _everyone's_ heart is racing, and now I can't pinpoint the guy with my hearing, you know? But he'd trekked through the fish monger's when he was running. So I'm smellin' him like crazy. So I do the piggyback thing, smell to sight, and suddenly I can _see_ him, Sandburg. See him perfectly clearly in my mind, crouching behind some boxes in the third floor storage area. Like I was psychic or something! I had to pretend like I just stumbled on the guy to take him in."

"Man, that _is_ cool!" Blair said excitedly. "I can't wait to get in to the lab to verify it! You did great, Jim! Just great! Jeez, I am, like, way proud of you, man!"

Jim grinned dopily, and thought to himself that if mentioning his senses was Blair's trigger, then Blair's praise was his. He melted inwardly at Blair's bright eyes, watching the younger man petting his arm in reward.

And then, Jim thought that if he left right then, right that second, if he ran the siren in the truck, he could have been home in ten minutes. He could have ripped the serum from its hiding place, and been back to the hospital in another ten. He could have injected the serum into Blair's IV, and remission would have been achieved by morning.

Blair was falling asleep. His eyes had drifted shut and he was no longer petting Jim's arm. There was still a slight smile on his face, his face so smooth now, no five o'clock shadow that started every afternoon around three o'clock.

Jim sat there and watched him, gripping the bed clothes in his fists, and figured if he took the new Park Street bridge, he could probably make it home in no more than eight minutes.

* * *

There was a message from Naomi on the machine when Jim finally returned to the loft. Shit, he should have called a few days earlier. He knew she'd drive out the minute she learned Blair was back in the hospital. Jim tried to tell himself his hesitation to call was because he didn't want to fight her about Blair's treatment, but he knew too well he just didn't want to fight her for Blair. He shared too much of him as it was. He'd only had ten minutes with the kid tonight before he fell asleep.

It was getting to the point where he couldn't go into the kid's room without tripping over three or four visitors. Blair put much more effort into appearing healthy and robust for them, so by the time it was just the two of them, he had little energy to do more than lie there and listen to Jim recite the events of his day. No teasing banter, no sage career counseling, so scientific curiosity. It was like Blair gave too much of himself to all the others so that when it came to Jim there was nothing that was essentially 'Blair' left to give. It made Jim feel jealous and bereft. 

After all, spoke that dark, irrational corner of his mind, he was the only one who truly loved Blair. It was ugly, that darkness inside him. That selfish, unreasonable part of him who could stand over his fragile lover and think, _Dying is the only way you'll ever be rid of me. Your soul is as much mine as that ass you like to shake for every man in the northern hemisphere... And I'll never let you go. In this world, you're mine, and you will never be rid of me._

And always, the ominous thoughts shocked him and shamed him, and he would be extra solicitous of Blair, extra sensitive, extra caring, extra gentle. The darker his thoughts, the kinder he had to be to Blair to apologize for them.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I'm feeling a lot better today. I've been off chemo for a few days, and the sores in my mouth are better. Naomi came up. I think Jim called her. She snuck me in some tongue and a chocolate milk shake. Cracks me up that _Mom_ will totally blow the rules, but Jim sticks to them like glue. Somehow I like that though. Knowing where he stands on everything. Not that he's intractable. He's really not. For a cop, he's surprisingly open to reason. I told him that this morning, just to watch him smirk at me. 

He touches me like a lover in front of Naomi now, which gets me totally hot--well, as hot as I can get these days. The three of us had breakfast this morning. Jim sat behind me, and I leaned against his chest. He held my hand and kissed me good-bye and laughed because I turned beet red. I've been thinking about it all day. It keeps me warm.

* * *

Jim checked his gun one final time before tucking it in the holster at his back. Simon stood in front of his desk, eyes drawn in concern. "I really hate to do this, Jim, but the other guys have put in their time, and.."

Jim lifted a curious brow at the man. "It's not a problem, Captain," he said, and felt ashamed that he was actually _relieved_ to finally draw stakeout duty on the department's waterfront drug bust.

"I don't like to think of the kid sittin' alone at the hospital."

Jim nodded, but didn't share the fact that Blair was rarely alone. _Probably won't even know I'm gone,_ he thought crossly. "Naomi's still here," he said succinctly.

"Yeah, well, probably fillin' the kid's head with fairy tales about 'the pigs.' At least with you there, our side is represented."

"Hey, Captain, we got it covered!" Brown spoke up, shoving a piece of paper in front of him. "Look, we all signed up for times and stuff to make sure Hair...uh, Sandburg has as much company as he needs."

Jim peered over Simon's shoulder at the different names scrawled all over the page. Part of him was touched, truly touched that the men and women he worked with would go to so much trouble for Blair. But that dark part of him had to refrain from frowning, from resenting these people who interfered with the attention Blair should have been paying to him alone. How unfair that even in illness he should have to share his lover. In sickness or in health, Blair belonged to him and only him.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Jim's been at a stakeout the past few days, so the guys at the station have gone overboard making sure I've got company. I've had more visitors in the last two days than in the whole previous month combined. I'm exhausted, but touched too. It took awhile, but I've finally gone from tag-along, to mascot, to peer. It feels a lot better than I thought it would--maybe it's just that I realize I _want_ it more than I thought I did. The funniest thing is watching Mom--here she's had all these preconceived notions about cops and that whole scene, and it's all crumbling right before her eyes. She hates to be wrong as much as Jim does, though she'd totally deny it if I called her on it.

Ryf said he's going to ask Rachael to marry him, and I gave him a hard time, because it took him a month to get up the nerve to ask her out. And then I was like, this major go-between until the two of them got where the other was coming from. Ryf mentioned something about Jim and I being the two most clueless people on the planet and having _no_ room to talk, which cracked me up. They only _think_ Jim and I were clueless. It took them _months_ to catch on that anything was going on between us, and even that was because Jim decided to start dropping hints.

Saw Simon and Darryl today--Darryl was pumped because he made the varsity baseball team. Simon's trying to play it cool, but he was nearly bursting with pride. Darryl was so excited. Their first game is in a few weeks. He asked if I could go, so I explained about the low platelet count and what that did to my immune system--and why crowded places like high school baseball diamonds were pretty much out of the question. He had a lot of questions which I answered as best I could. He handled it well--a lot better than I would of at his age. I think my reaction then would have been flight. Death, dying, sickness--it's a lot for an adolescent to handle and I'm way impressed at Darryl's courage. He's a great kid.

* * *

Jim was glad to know he was not the only one incapable of resisting a full Sandburg press. Dr. McVey, worn down by Blair's incessant pleading, cajoling and outright begging, agreed to send the kid home at the end of his chemo rotation.

Still plagued by painful intestinal ulcers as well as severe headaches, Blair assured McVey that Jim's training as a medic would hold them in good stead, and the soothing quality of home would further hasten his returning strength. Jim got the impression it was in spite of himself that McVey agreed to send Blair home.

So long as he was coming home. 

Jim bundled Blair up for the drive home. The younger man was pliant and drowsy from the pain shot he'd been given. Once home, Jim gently led Blair to the bed. Jim deftly undressed him and got him tucked under the covers.

"Am I awake or asleep?" Blair mumbled, holding tightly to Jim's shirt.

The detective laughed gently. "A little of both," he said. "Why don't you go all the way to sleep?"

Blair frowned and arched his back in discomfort. "Too much sleep. I get...confused."

Jim tried to settle Blair, bringing the covers up around him and running his hand over his forehead. "Just ask me, Sweetheart," he whispered. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

Another frown from Blair. "You tell me what _you_ want me to know," he groused, and Jim laughed.

"Oh man, do you have my number or what?" Jim asked, grabbing Blair's hand so he would quit trying to push back the bed covers. 

Blair finally gave up with a whimper of frustration. "Am I home?" he asked, looking around like he didn't quite recognize the place.

"You're home," Jim said, wondering now if that was such a great idea.

"Am I still sick?"

Jim sighed and continued to pet Blair's forehead. "Yeah, you're still sick."

Blair sighed, still looking confused and cross. He looked up at Jim, who smiled gently at him and his face smoothed over. "Thanks, then," he said softly. "For letting me come home."

* * *

It was worst right before Blair was due for a shot. _It sucks all the time,_ Jim corrected himself. Were there really degrees anymore? The kid insisted he was getting better, but it was nearly impossible to believe in the interim between one shot wearing off and another one being given.

Blair stifled a moan, and Jim looked at his watch and cursed inwardly. Even fudging the doctor's instructions, he couldn't give Blair a shot for another hour and a half. The kid was breathing hard, sweat beading on his face, but Jim saw his determination not to ask for the medication before it was due.

"Let's play...let's play Favorites," Blair gritted out.

Tears stung Jim's eyes for a second, but he quickly blinked them away and managed a smile. "Okay. You go first."

Favorites was a game Blair had made up shortly after he and Jim partnered up. Ostensibly using it as a way to wile away the hours of interminable stake-outs, Blair had really been after a way to learn more about Jim. Back then, the detective was rarely forthcoming when answering Blair's questions, and the game allowed him to let down his guard, a way to be personal without being too...personal. 

"Favorite date?"

"BF or AF?" Jim asked, eyes twinkling. BF meant Before Fucking, before they were a couple. AF, of course, was After Fucking.

"AF," Blair replied, then closed his eyes against a wave of pain. "All AF this time," he panted when the pain lessened.

Jim swallowed hard and concentrated on keeping his voice light. "You probably don't even remember it," he said with a self- conscious shrug. "It was nothing special really, but that's why it's my favorite. I picked you up at school, and we went to Brewster's for dinner. Ran into a bunch of people you knew from the university. And every one of them knew we were together. Not like the guys at the station, who didn't...or maybe wouldn't get it. And then we went to a moonlight regatta, and sat on the beach, you kind of settled up against my chest, and we watched the sun set and the stars come out. It was one of those 'all's right with the world' kind of nights. Everything made sense; everything clicked. For a little while, everything was absolutely perfect."

"We made love on the beach," Blair remembered, licking away the sweat that stood out on his upper lip. "Our own little 'From Here to Eternity,' right Big Guy?"

"Yeah, perfect," Jim whispered.

Blair grinned teasingly. "Easy for you to say. _You_ weren't digging sand out of your ass two days later." 

Jim laughed. "All right, Chief. You're not into romance? How about your favorite position. Down and dirty, Baby. I want to hear it."

"Like you don't know," Blair said with a knowing grin. 

"I still like to hear it," Jim said, grinning back.

Blair closed his eyes and spoke in his deepest, story-telling voice. "When you sit in the chair, and you kind of lean back, all comfortable-like, all nonchalant, like your body's not flushed all over, and your dick's not spitting and leaking...and then I get on top of you, and it's like your cock is a magnet for my ass, and we find each other without any hesitation, like it was all choreographed ages ago, and I sink down on you and you make these noises...God, these noises, Jim, all in the back of your throat and down in your chest, totally wild sounds, like this is some kind of primeval dance, and when you're all the way inside me, we just stop for a minute."

Blair opened his eyes for a moment and he and Jim locked eyes for a minute, remembering together. "Nobody moves, nobody breathes, we just stay there, connected, lost to everything but each other. God, I love that! And then, the best part of all, you put your big hands under my arms, and I'm, like, so aware of your power right then; of how strong you are and how big you are and how...how easy it would be to hide inside of you for the rest of my life. Oh man, Jim, I love that part even more, and then real gently, you lift me up, then let me fall back, then lift me up, then let me fall back." 

Blair shifted, forcefully releasing the breath he was holding. He shook his head when Jim half rose out of his seat. "And you start making those noises again, and your hips start getting into it, and then it starts getting wilder and rougher, and it's the closest you ever come to really letting go...and you're tossing your head back and forth and shoving up inside me, and we're getting closer and closer and sometimes you grab me and kiss me so hard, I think I'm going to die, and then I know I'm going to die, and then I can't _wait_ to die and then you give it one last, ferocious shove, and I know this is the one and all of a sudden you're bellowing at the top of your lungs and coming inside me like a fountain and I'm splashing all over your chest and belly and then you laugh, Jim, and get this...this totally, like, joyful look on your face, and your eyes right then, God, your eyes are bluer than anything I've ever seen, and something inside me just melts, I'm, like, totally lost to you at that point, like really I'm just an extension of you and anything you want is yours."

Blair sighed happily. "And then, I kind of curl up on your lap, and even though we're sticky and messy, and I know it's probably driving you nuts, you just hold me like that, stroking my hair. You surround me and for a little while, there's nothing but you, man. You're my entire universe--sun and stars and moon and sky, alpha and omega, Big Guy, just the way you like it."

Blair opened his eyes and innocently smiled at his aroused lover. "Your turn," he chirped. "Favorite kind of ice cream."

Jim tried to play it cool, but as he replied, "Rocky Road," he leaned forward. "Oh, _FUCK_!" he shouted, at his painful erection. For a split second, Jim was ashamed, here Blair was spending hours of every single day in terrible pain, and he was moaning about something as trivial as his cock, but then Blair laughed delightedly, and Jim's heart soared at the sound, and he started to laugh too. "You are such a shit," Jim said affectionately. "You push my buttons like nobody ever could."

Blair laughed, then coughed against the pain. "You love it," he said.

"Hmm, if you say so," he muttered, carefully rearranging himself. "All right, Baby, your turn. Favorite fantasy..."

Blair grinned devilishly at his lover, who held up a hand in warning.

"Huh uh, hold on there, Chief. Non-sexual." Jim laughed at Blair's dramatically crestfallen face. "I'll wait," he said, folding his arms across his chest and fixing Blair with a superior gaze.

Blair shrugged carelessly. "Hardly a show stopper, Big Guy," he said, struggling for a more comfortable position. When he couldn't find one, he simply moved over in the bed and looked up at Jim with troubled eyes. "Sit close to me," he said, like he'd suddenly forgotten why Jim wasn't nearer.

Jim winced and shook his head. "It hurts you," he said gruffly.

"It's better," Blair said, lifting his chin, as if defying Jim to argue.

With a deep breath to gird his nerves, Jim carefully drew closer to the bed and gingerly sat in the now empty spot. Blair arched his back against the sudden movement. He closed his eyes and struggled with the hurt for several long minutes. Reaching blindly for Jim's hand, he squeezed it hard, and when the pain became manageable he opened his eyes to smile gratefully at the older man. "It's better," he whispered, and kissed the hand tightly gripping his own.

Blair took a deep breath and settled back against his pillow. "This is kind of an easy one, Babe. It started BF, but I still think about it sometimes, so it counts."

Jim gave his lover a mock glare. "I don't want to hear about it unless I have a staring role," he warned.

"Big surprise," Blair said, a teasing light in his eyes. "Okay, when I was around nine, Naomi hooked up with this real fucker of a guy. He was so nice to us at first, we both fell for the guy. But, like, a week after we moved in with him, he went nuts."

"Fucker," Jim growled. It made Blair smile.

"Naomi came home from work and caught him laying into me. It was...I mean, she just _flipped,_ man. Total rage, you know? And then that fucker turned on her, and he...he hit her." Blair shuddered at the memory, resulting in a physical jolt of pain to accompany the mental one. "It just got crazier and crazier...There was all this screaming and yelling, and when he hit Naomi, I lost it and started kicking and biting and hitting him, and he slammed me into a wall and he was...he was kicking me and then all of a sudden Naomi was standing over us and she had a knife and she was screaming at him to get away from me...I...I thought for sure she was gonna kill him, but he backed off enough for her to grab me and we took off, and he was screaming at the door that he'd find us, that he'd kill Naomi the first chance he got... all kinds of crap like that... Naomi got me cleaned up, had some doctor friend of hers check me out. They gave me something to make me sleep and the next thing I know, I wake up on a bus heading for Washington State."

Jim was silent, his pained eyes speaking volumes to the younger man.

"We were pretty spooked for a few years after that," Blair continued his story quietly. "I didn't meet a boyfriend of Mom's for probably two full years, and even then, I think I was fifteen before she ever left me alone with one."

Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "I'm not liking this game very much right now," he said, pressing his lips to Blair's sweaty temple.

"Sometimes," Blair said, sounding shy all of a sudden, "I imagine that you knew us then. And just when the fucker was going to hit my mom, you kick in the door and come at him like a bull, charging over him and giving him a taste of his own medicine, beating the shit out of him. And then...and then you pick me up...and you're just this _huge_ guy, you know? But so gentle...and you wrap your jacket around me and carry me out to the car and lay me down in the back seat, and Naomi's crying but you keep telling her that everything's okay, that you're going to take care of us and nothing can hurt us anymore...and then we're at your house, and you carry me inside, and it's warm and quiet...and you sit down in a big, soft chair, and just...hold me...all night long. And tell me I'm safe...Just over and over again, you tell me that I'm safe and no one can hurt me or my mom anymore."

"I wish I could go back and make it happen," Jim said softly.

It was quiet for a minute, then Blair wrinkled his nose at the idea. "Nah, you'd get all weirded out about me being a little kid," he said. "It'd be months before you could bring yourself to touch me. I'd rather have you fulfill my favorite position than my favorite fantasy."

He grinned easily and Jim marveled at how completely Blair could put something like that behind him. Blair might have disagreed, but Jim thought Blair's childhood had been much rougher than his own. Sure his father had been an asshole, but he'd been a _consistent_ asshole. Yeah, he played Jim against his brother, and they never really knew which one of them was going to be in favor at any given time, but it still seemed a far more stable upbringing than Blair had had. His old man had a temper to be sure, but he'd never raised his hand to Jim in anger, though a few times Jim thought he was going to. Of course, by the ninth grade, Jim was three inches taller and forty pounds heavier than his father.

"I know the age thing bugs you," Blair said, as he pet Jim's arm. "But I like to do the math sometimes. You know, like, when I was nine, you were, what, twenty-two? You were already in the army. You probably already knew, like, a thousand ways to kill that fucker."

Jim grinned down at Blair. "And a thousand more places to hide the body," he agreed.

Blair frowned suddenly and stifled a surprised cry of pain. Jim started to stand, but Blair gripped the arm he'd been petting and gave his head a slight shake. "Still, I guess I'm glad we met when we did," he said, struggling for a conversational tone, even though his voice was tight with pain. "You really would be too weirded out if you'd known me when I was little."

Jim didn't even have time to take a breath before Blair shot him a dirty look, no doubt anticipating a crack about his height. "Don't say it, Big Guy," Blair warned. "Don't even think it."

Jim laughed in spite of himself, in spite of the empathy pains he felt at Blair's discomfort. "Hell, kid, I'm weirded out knowing you now," he teased.

"Well, it's not like I ever thought I'd jump into the sack with some anal retentive cop, either."

Jim smiled fondly. "Yeah, I guess we both kind of veered off the track to end up here, huh?"

"Lucky us," Blair said softly.

Jim blinked hard and vaguely shook his head, surprised to realize Blair really _meant_ it. Lying there, sick and in pain, their future prospects murky at best, Blair honestly thought they were _lucky._ Jim took a deep, shaky breath of air.

"After you're better," he said, running his hand across Blair's burning forehead, "I'm going to take you camping in the Xavier Mountains. I've never taken you in as deep as we'll go--civilization just a memory. It's so green, Blair, so green, it'll hurt your eyes, and the air is so clean and crisp, the sky so blue, it's like real life in stunning, unexpected Technicolor--everything that much more vivid, that much more intense. And I'm going to rip your clothes off the minute we get out of the truck, and you won't come within a hundred feet of a stitch of clothing for an entire week. And I am going to fuck you so many different ways, we'll never be able to play Favorites again, because just thinking about what I did to you, just _thinking_ about it, Baby, will get you so hot and so horny, that you will come like a fucking volcano wherever you happen to be standing."

"Wow," Blair said, eyes wide. And then, with a cry of shock, Blair arched his back. "Oh Jim! Jim!" he called out.

Not knowing what else to do, Jim snatched Blair into his arms, prompting another shout of dismay from the younger man. Jim tightly clutched his lover to his chest, hating himself that he could not protect Blair from this fate. "I'm sorry," Jim whispered, unconsciously rocking the trembling man. "I'm so sorry."

Blair closed his eyes and softened in defeat against his lover, shamefully hiding his head on Jim's shoulder. "Can I please have a shot?"

"Of course you can, Baby," Jim whispered, fighting the urge to tighten his hold on his fragile lover. "Of course you can." 

Jim set Blair back on the pillows and slowly rose from the bed. He took the stairs two at a time and went into the bathroom to prepare the shot. His hands were shaking violently and he gripped the sink and took several deep breaths to calm himself. He met his own eyes in the mirror and sighed at what he saw--fatigue, age, hopelessness. Hearing another cry from upstairs, he shook his head and concentrated on filling the syringe, refusing to think about the serum he wished he was loading into the shot. 

Blair was writhing in the bed. Gripping the sheets in his fists, he fought against the awful pain. "Please!" he shouted with mounting hysteria. "Please! Please! Please!"

Jim tried to roll him over on to his side, but Blair cried out in fright and struggled to push him away. "No! Stop!" he gasped. "Go away! Go away!"

"It's a pain shot," Jim said, his voice smooth and steady. "A pain shot, Blair. I'm gonna take the hurt away, okay?"

Blair was too far gone to understand. "No!" he pleaded, pushing at Jim's hands. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..." he muttered frantically.

Swallowing against a swell of nausea, Jim captured both of Blair's scrawny wrists in one hand. The younger man bellowed in surprise as Jim nudged him to his side with his knee. He pulled down the pajama bottom and stuck him quickly, tears welling in his eyes at the bruises the other shots had caused on his ass.

_One shot, that's all it would take. One shot and the pain would stop, the chemo would stop, the horror would stop. One shot, one shot, one shot..._

It only took a few minutes for the medication to take effect. Blair's body softened back into the bed. "Oh," he whispered, finally understanding. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble."

Jim kissed his forehead. "You've always been trouble," he said lightly. "This is nothing new."

A couple of beats later the teasing registered, and Blair smiled. He lazily arched his back as more and more of the pain was taken away. "Bad boy," he mumbled.

"The original himself," Jim agreed. "But that's okay. I love you." He kissed him again. "You're mine now, Sweetheart. And I'll take care of you and keep you safe. You'll always be safe with me. Always."

"Safe," Blair mumbled, and fell asleep with a small smile curling on his lips.

Continued in part four.


	4. Chapter 4

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Continued from part three. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part four 

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Some invisible line was crossed somewhere, and now I'm _living_ with cancer. For weeks--and especially when I was in the hospital- -lymphoma was all I was. It was every thought, every decision, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. Some days I'd be sitting in that hospital bed, and this song would waft around and around inside my head, "Take all of me. Why not take all of me."

But somewhere, sometime, somehow, it changed, and no longer became the entire focus of my existence. 

I'm off most of the pain meds now--that's made a tremendous difference. The headaches are pretty minor and not as constant as they were. McVey changed the chemo dosage so it's not laying me out as badly. I can read and work with at least a modicum of confidence that I'm not spouting complete drivel.

Jim and I go out sometimes, to dinner at the Taggarts or the Browns, the art museum, natural science museum (Jim says it's not like we have to worry about running into any actual _people_ there, ha ha). I've dropped by the station a couple of times, even helped Jim out with some paperwork, but I don't think he could handle my going out in the field with him. 

He's retreated some. That's no surprise really--that's how he protects himself--pulls inward, closes himself off. If I want the freedom to deal with this in my way, I've got to give Jim that same freedom, but I worry about him going so far in, he might lose himself. 

Still no remission, and I know the serum is becoming a more and more attractive prospect for the guy.

You're going to shit when you read that, aren't you, Jim? You think I think the serum's gone, but I know it's not. I don't know where it is, but I know it's still around and that you wrestle with yourself over it. See, Big Guy, if you'd really destroyed it, you would have done it in front of me to receive full (physical) benefit of the accolades and rewards for such a selfless act. I'm not the only one known too well here, you know. It's okay, though, Jim. I don't care, so long as you realize that shit isn't getting anywhere near me.

At the urging of McVey and the entire nursing staff, I started up with a lymphoma support group. For all the therapy I've tried over the years, I have to admit I was a little skeptical about this group therapy thing, but all the research says people going to support groups have better cure rates than those who don't, so I'm going. And I've found that it really does make a difference. It's a place where I can vent a lot of my anger, where that anger is validated and no move is made to manage it, or disperse it, or excuse it. Jim's gotta appreciate the fact that he's no longer the main focus of all that rage. He nixed going to a support group of his own, but that's no surprise either.

It's not like we can forget the lymphoma, but there are times when we can put it aside. Sometimes when we're just sacking out on the couch together or watching a ball game with the guys or driving around in the truck, sometimes it disappears for a little while.

Jim got pissed at me yesterday because I forgot to call the repair guy about refrigerator. He didn't fly off the handle, just his usual, 'Jesus, I ask you to do one thing,' kind of reaction. I just about danced around the room. It was so fucking _normal,_ you know?

Maybe, just maybe, we've finally got a handle on this thing.

* * *

Jim winced and wondered why the pan Blair wanted was always buried in the furthest reaches of the cabinet. He oughta pass a new rule that said on Blair's mornings to cook breakfast, he _had_ to set the pan out the night before. What good was it being the one who got to sleep in if you couldn't _sleep?_

Jim grinned. Aw, he'd wake up anyway. He liked listening to Blair talk to himself, and hum under his breath as he cooked and chopped and mixed and diced. 

Blair dropped the frying pan again and cursed. Chuckling, Jim rolled out of bed and padded naked down the stairs. "Morning," he said, detouring from his trek to the bathroom to kiss Blair and rub his back.

"Sorry," Blair said, which a shrug and a twinkle in his eye that said he probably wasn't.

Jim snorted in Blair's ear, holding his back to his chest and rubbing his penis against the back of Blair's jeans-clad thigh. "Mmm, nice," Jim thrummed with a sigh. 

Blair reached around behind him and caressed Jim's ass, leaning back against him with a sigh of his own. "You got that right." He lifted his head and caught Jim's eye. "Hey, uh, sorry about last night, Big Guy..."

"Yeah, falling asleep in the middle of my performance doesn't do much for the old guy's ego," Jim teased.

Blair made a face, but Jim hugged him again before he could say anything. "It's okay, Baby," he whispered. "It was beautiful, and you were tired, and I don't care. Just holding you is heaven to me."

Blair smiled up at Jim. "Love you," he said, always shy when he said it first.

"Sure you do," Jim answered, sauntering off to shower. "What's _not_ to love?"

"You want that alphabetical or in order of appearance?" Blair called.

Jim tossed off an obscene gesture over his head, but didn't look back. Even with the water turned on, he could hear Blair's laughter.

Jim heard the phone ring and listened only long enough to see if it was for him. Blair was still talking quietly, his back to Jim, when the detective finished his shower and jogged upstairs to dress.

"Who was that?" Jim asked when Blair hung up the phone. There was no answer, which Jim shrugged off.

Buttoning his shirt, Jim looked down from the loft just in time to watch Blair take the eggs off the burner then sink gracefully to his knees. Jim's heart lurched, and with a grunt of shock, he raced down the stairs. "Blair!" he said urgently, kneeling down and placing his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

Blair groaned and leaned forward. Jim thought at first that he was going to be sick, but he just bored his face into Jim's shoulder, shaking his head back and forth and moaning as if a dagger had been plunged into his back.

Frightened, Jim held the younger man, rocking him, rubbing his back, using sensitive hands and ears to try and tell him what was wrong. When they revealed nothing unusual, Jim whispered into Blair's ear, "What's wrong, Baby? Tell me what's wrong. You're scaring me, here."

It was several long minutes before Blair regained enough composure to speak. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I thought I could just...but it just...it's... Miguel died this morning."

It took Jim a second to place the name. "Miguel Arroyo," he said with a sinking heart. "From your support group?"

Blair nodded, slumping further into Jim's hold. "He's got two kids, Jim," Blair said, sounding dazed. "Just five and eight. He was only 37, man."

"I'm sorry," Jim said, knowing the words were inadequate.

"God, I'm so selfish," Blair said bitterly. A barrage of images flashed through Jim's mind--Blair organizing an impromptu party for the children in the pediatric cancer ward, Blair taking on yet another student to tutor even though he hadn't the time, nor the energy, Blair finishing Jim's reports, offering to help Brown and Ryf with theirs, taking Darryl under his wing and somehow, the fatherless Blair instinctively bringing both Darryl _and_ Simon closer together.

"Why do you say that?" Jim asked, knowing an outright denial would simply be ignored.

"I've been so self-centered about this, so hung up on why, you know? Why me, why now, why _this._ And it finally, _finally_ dawned on me. Why not? Why _not_ me? There's no reason for this. Shit happens and then you die and if you leave two little kids behind, so fucking what."

The words hurt Jim. It was Blair's psyche more than anything that Jim was driven to protect. He cherished his lover's sunny outlook, his indefatigable spirit and that let's-get-down-to-it approach to life. Blair's hunger was contagious, his passion invigorating. He had brought Jim back to life--Jim believed that to his core, and there was more than a little bit of self-preservation behind his overprotective nature where Blair was concerned. It was always at the back of Jim's mind that the ugliness associated with the Job could destroy that spirit he loved so much. Perhaps what the Job had failed to do, this illness would.

"I'm sorry," Jim said again, shifting on the floor so he could get a better hold on his lover. "I wish I could help you. I wish there was something I could do."

"No one can do anything," Blair said, still angry, but allowing Jim to hold him. "It's all so senseless. I mean, Miguel had a family, you know? Kids who need him, a wife, I mean, if anyone deserved to live a long life, it was him. What've I got to bargain with? No kids, no one relying on me for anything. Hell, I don't even have a real _job_. And yet I sit around and cry about why me?"

Jim closed his eyes and told himself Blair wasn't purposefully trying to hurt his feelings. It didn't help much, but it kept him from shaking the kid until he could knock some sense into him. "You _deserve_ this life, Blair," Jim said, his voice hoarse with conviction. " _I_ deserve it, God dammit."

"Yeah? And maybe we're getting what we deserve right now," Blair said broodingly.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Miguel died Saturday morning. I feel so awful. Depressed and angry and scared that I might be next, which is totally selfish which makes me depressed and angry and...well, you see where that's going. He was only 37 years old, two kids, a wife. This was his third relapse. He was first diagnosed when he was 19. That's almost 20 years, off and on, of fighting cancer. Why didn't he give up? How could he keep going, keep trying? Am I going to survive this relapse, just to face another one and another?

The funeral was today. Jim looked handsome in his suit. Healthy. Sometimes he feels like a giant--so solid, so strong. My Blessed Protector, standing sentry next to me, as if he really could ward off ill health and all other evils. 

Miguel is the second person from my support group to die. After Alice died, it was Miguel who said we ought to start a pool, put in five dollars every week and the surviving member of the group gets to take the money and throw some major blow-out of a party. At the wake, Miguel's wife gave me an envelope from Miguel that was addressed to the group. We huddled up in the back yard and read it together. It was a five dollar bill and a note that said if it ever got down to me and someone else in the group, that someone else was in charge of buying the liquor, 'cause if it was left to me, I'd probably buy some wacked out kind of tea that wouldn't even provide a good drunk. That totally cracked me up. Gallows humor upsets Jim though, he doesn't see anything funny in the situation.

I don't suppose there is, but sometimes, laughter seems the only appropriate response, short of borrowing an AK-47 and mowing down a shopping center or something.

* * *

[Two Weeks Later]

Jim calmly drew a bead on the perp, focused in on the guy's trembling hand and shot the gun right out of it. The perp yelped and dropped the gun, which fell to the ground and discharged. With a muttered, "Fuck!" Jim felt the bullet graze his upper arm. Had he been wearing a dark shirt, no one would have even noticed the wound in the ensuing confusion. It was just Jim's luck that his shirt was white--and that a rookie, regulations still newly memorized--was standing closest to him. The young officer immediately called in 'Officer Down,' and within minutes the site was swarming with cops and EMT's.

Jim glared at Simon as the captain came jogging up to him where he was standing near the back of an ambulance, arguing with an EMT who was insisting Jim ride with him to the hospital. 

"Come on, Jim, you need to get that stitched up, file a report. You know the drill," Simon said, trying to hide his grin.

Jim smirked at his captain. "Simon, I don't have time for this," he complained. "Besides, this is going to hit the news any second, and Blair's going to go nuts."

Miguel's death had really thrown Blair for a loop. He'd only known the man a few weeks, and at first Jim didn't get it. He was a nice enough man, funny certainly, and resilient from what Jim knew. But it wasn't like he and Blair were in similar situations. Miguel had been diagnosed nearly 20 years earlier. Modern medicine had come a long way in that time--chemo and radiation had been refined and recalculated. Jim didn't see why Blair would identify so closely with the man.

But then, Jim realized, it really didn't matter _why_ Blair identified with him, only that he did. And now fear was a constant companion to the kid, fear of being alone, fear of getting sick, fear of loud noises, fear of the dark. Fear of a phone call telling him Jim was hurt. Telling him Jim wasn't coming home.

Simon's face sobered. "So give the kid a call.".

Jim shook his head. "He'll insist on going over to the hospital. I know it's a lot to ask, Sir, but could you run interference for me? He gets a phone call, and he's going to fly off the handle."

"Jim, come on, this is no big deal," said Simon with a groan.

"I don't want Sandburg at the hospital," Jim insisted. "His platelets are too low for him to be anywhere, much less a _hospital._ Can you just go sit with him for awhile?"

Simon sighed, but nodded his assent. "All right, then, all right," Simon said. "Jeez, Jim, you learning persuasion from the kid on top of everything else?"

Jim grinned. "Thanks, Captain. I owe you one."

Simon waved him off, muttering to himself as he walked to the car. "Yeah, he _owes_ me. He _owes_ me. When do I collect, that's what I want to know..."

An hour later, Jim sat in a treatment room at the ER, waiting for a resident to stitch him up. The wound wasn't serious enough to warrant immediate attention, which was precisely why Jim would have been more than happy to ignore it. If he skipped out now, though, he'd ruin the mountain of paperwork keeping half of Cascade employed.

Thinking he would finally see a doctor, Jim looked up expectantly when he heard footsteps approaching. His face fell in disappointment, then hardened in displeasure when Simon pushed the door open and entered, with Blair following close behind. Blair's one hand was gripping Simon's sleeve so tightly his knuckles were white. "Hey, Jim," Simon said softly, his eyes apologizing for Blair's appearance at the hospital.

Seeing Jim conscious, sitting up, and looking merely annoyed, Blair made a sound of surprise and catapulted himself into Jim's arms. Jim winced at the jolt to his shoulder, bringing his good arm around Blair to hold him tight. The kid was shaking violently, burrowing against Jim as if trying to climb inside him. He was breathing in fast, hitching gasps that rocked his thin body even further. Unmindful of Simon standing there, Jim kissed the top of Blair's head and murmured comfortingly to him. "It's okay, Chief, I'm okay," he said softly. "Come on, now, it's all right. Everything's okay. Calm down, it's all right. I know you're scared. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you. Calm down now, you're going to make yourself sick." Jim nodded his understanding at Simon. "You shouldn't have come, Sweetheart," Jim whispered. "It's not safe for you here, too many germs. Why don't you let Simon take you home?"

Blair made a sound and wildly shook his head, burrowing closer to Jim and tightening his hold.

"Okay, okay," Jim soothed. "Calm down. You stay right here, then. Everything's okay." 

It was another hour before the hospital released Jim. Blair never left the solace of Jim's arms, gripping Jim's shirt tightly in his fists, shuddering and utterly silent. Jim continued to pet him and speak to him like he was a spooked animal. The one time Jim managed to catch Blair's eyes, he thought the younger man looked like the picture of an abandoned war orphan he'd seen in a magazine. Shit, the kid didn't need this. Things were hard enough without him fearing he was going to have to go through this mess alone.

Eventually, Jim was stitched up and released. He coaxed Blair out to the car. Simon was kind enough to bring Jim's truck over, so the captain drove them back to the loft. Once home, Jim invited Simon in to call one of the black  & whites to take him back to the station for his car. He hustled a still silent Blair upstairs, figuring they had nothing to hide from Simon anymore. Jim got Blair to swallow a sleeping pill, then sat on the edge of the bed and gently rubbed his back for the ten minutes it took the pill to take effect. He changed out of his bloody shirt. His shoulder hurt, but he didn't dial down the pain very much. It gave him something to focus on other than Blair's hysteria. 

Jim came quietly downstairs and sighed at Simon's look of concern. "He's okay," Jim said. "It's been a rough couple of weeks, you know?"

Simon nodded, then pointed to Jim's shoulder. "You okay, Jim?"

Jim looked at the bandage in disgust. "I've cut myself worse shaving," he said dismissively. "Simon, I've gotta...I've gotta do something here. I mean, if something happens to me with Blair sick, I need to make sure he's, you know, taken care of. Financially and all that." Jim shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never even thought...I mean, sure I've thought about what would happen if I buy it on the Job, but I always figured the kid would land on his feet. But if he's sick..."

Simon started to say something, but clamped his mouth shut when Jim started restlessly pacing in front of the couch. "You know, when Blair had that infection, the hospital had this experimental drug, but they wanted the next of kin to sign off on the waiver, and I kept explaining that you didn't get any more next of kin than me, but that wasn't good enough, and I could really use a leave of absence right now, but no way does any of the Family Leave bullshit apply to us... I used to think all that mumbo jumbo about needing to recognize gay marriages was just out there kind of stuff, you know? You know, like, what do two adults need with a marriage contract, but now...man, all this shit is going down, and on top of it all, I've gotta worry about all these stupid legal issues, it's just totally fucked, Simon, you know what I mean?"

"Jim, you've got some friends over at the DA's office. Sandburg's bound to know some of the profs in the law school at Rainier. Why don't you speak to an attorney and see what you can do to make that part of it more solid."

Jim grinned suddenly at his captain. "Bet you never thought you'd be having this conversation with me, huh, Sir?"

"Well, Jim, I never thought you'd tell me a lot of the things you've told me. Somehow, I'm pretty much prepared for anything where you two are concerned." 

* * *

Blair was already awake when the throbbing in Jim's shoulder woke him. He opened his eyes to find Blair staring at his bandage.

"Hey," Jim said gently. Blair looked so fragile even the touch of his breath might have shattered him.

Blair said nothing, looking at Jim with blue doe eyes.

"I'm okay," Jim said, still using a calming tone. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"Simon came to the door," Blair said finally. "There was a knock, and I opened it, and it was Simon."

"I know, Sweetheart. I couldn't get away to call you. I wanted to do this without you coming to the hospital. I should have been the one to call."

Blair crawled up into Jim's arms, careful of the shoulder. "I can't do this by myself," he whispered, starting to shake. "I thought I wanted to be alone. I thought I wanted to be where...where no one could see me, where I wasn't hurting anybody, but I can't, Jim. I can't."

Jim winced at the discomfort, but still tightened the arm he had around Blair. "It's okay. Everything's okay now. You're not alone, Sweetheart, I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered, still shuddering. "I'm sorry I make you feel like that all the time. I've been so selfish, Jim, how can you...how can you stay with me?"

Jim chuckled. How indeed. "Hell, Sandburg. So we never get that TV movie of the week. I'll survive and so will you."

"I love you," Blair said. "I don't think you've heard that from me in a long time, and that kills me, Jim. I love you so much, but I've been walking around here like I'm the only one who..."

"Hey, come on, now," Jim said. "Don't talk about my baby that way."

Blair inhaled shakily. "How about, I take care of you today," he said, his hand wandering across Jim's chest and down his side as he spoke.

"Does that mean you make me breakfast?" Jim asked.

He heard the smile on Blair's face when he replied. "I could do that."

"How about head rubs? Do I get head rubs?"

"An unlimited supply," Blair answered. "On special, today only."

"I'll probably need help in the shower," Jim said with a sad sigh.

"Maybe I'd better give you a bath," Blair said with mock seriousness. "It's safer, you know."

"Yeah, safer," Jim agreed.

* * *

Simon gave Jim the week off, which was about six days longer than the detective needed, but he wasn't going to complain. Blair was going out of his way to be solicitous and attentive to his injured lover. Even better, he felt well enough to spend some time working on his dissertation, and Jim took advantage of Blair's preoccupation to do a little research of his own.

The morning Jim went to the doctor to be cleared for duty, he had another appointment as well, with Theresa Perez, an attorney referred to him by one of the DA's. She was a tall, attractive woman in her early 40's with short black hair and a smooth, professional manner. A prominent picture on her desk showed her on the top of a mountain peak, arm and arm with a petite blond woman, both of them looking jubilant. Noticing Jim's gaze, Theresa sighed. "That was the last time I got to pick the vacation spot," she said. Her eyes were teasing.

"She looks happy enough," Jim said with a smile.

Theresa shook her head. "That was before the sprained ankle and wrenched back," she said wryly. "So Jim, what can I do for you? Nathan says you're a good friend."

Nathan Wright was actually a good friend of Blair's. Jim had known him since he became a police officer and Nathan was one of the prosecutors trying his cases, but Blair had become his friend. And then Jim had become his friend, but only because of Blair... In any case, the point wasn't worth quibbling over. "Um, yeah," Jim said, then smirked at his eloquence. "Um, okay, yeah, this is, uh, harder than I thought it would be."

Theresa smiled indulgently. "I can probably get you started, Jim," she said. "I specialize in legal issues effecting homosexuals, so my guess is Nathan referred you here because of that expertise."

Jim gave her an answering smile of relief. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "Uh, Blair, that's my, uh, partner, he um, he's sick. He has lymphoma, and, well, I'm a cop, and so between Blair's illness and the Job, I feel like we need to solidify the uh...relationship...well, that's not entirely accurate, the relationship is..."

"Is Blair in the hospital?" Theresa asked quietly. 

It wasn't a question Jim was expecting and it showed for a brief moment. "Uh, no, he's at home," Jim said.

"Why isn't he here with you?"

Again, not a question Jim was expecting. "Why isn't he here?"

Theresa nodded. "I assume you want some way of legally recognizing your status as a couple, and I'm just wondering why Blair isn't here with you."

Jim thought about that for a minute. "I was winged in the arm a week ago," he began finally. "It...upset Blair more than it probably should have. I guess, maybe I feel like talking about this will just get him all worked up again. If you can just give me some ideas about how to handle these, I can present them to Blair in a more... relaxed atmosphere."

Another slow nod from Theresa. "As long as you understand, Detective, that nothing can be accomplished without Blair's full cooperation."

Jim nodded his understanding, but not necessarily his agreement.

* * *

Blair was pacing in front of the building when Jim pulled into the parking lot. "Jesus," Jim muttered. The kid wasn't even wearing a coat to protect against the rain.

"Where were you?" Blair asked plaintively.

"Sandburg, what in the hell is wrong with you?" Jim asked at the exact same time. "Get back upstairs! For crying out loud it's 40 degrees out here."

"You were supposed to be back an hour ago!" Blair said, shuddering with chills. "What's the matter? Did the doctor find something wrong?"

Jim hustled Blair into the elevator, rubbing his hands up and down Blair's arms to help warm him. "I'm fine, Sweetheart," he said, feeling guilty. "Sorry I was late. You know how it is, takes forever to get in and see someone. I should have called."

"No, I'm just..." Blair shook his head and shrugged. "Fucked up," he said, and grinned, and Jim felt that melting feeling in his gut and had to hug his young lover. Blair chuckled in self-deprecation, but didn't let go until Jim released him to go fix lunch.

They sat down across from each other, and Jim knew Blair wasn't hungry, but the younger man was still indulging Jim after his close call and dutifully swallowed several bites, smiling at Jim with "aren't-I-being-a-good-boy?" innocence.

Jim found himself grinning helplessly at the kid. Jesus, he was so damn cute sometimes. When Blair became more interested in pushing the food around on his plate than eating it, Jim shoved his own plate aside and reached for Blair free hand. "Blair, honey, I need to talk to you about something." 

Blair's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Jim kicked himself for the use of 'Blair, honey,' a sure indication the kid wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

Jim cleared his throat and plowed ahead. "Look, uh, I've been worried lately, not worried, really, just thinking is more like it, thinking for awhile now that we need to make sure of a few things, you know, legally sure, so if something needs to be done, if a decision needs to be made or something happens and people are unsure how to proceed we make it clear to them without a problem..."

"Okay, so, apparently my lover was abducted by aliens and replaced with a dithering idiot," Blair said to himself. "Obviously the aliens are no more advanced than we are, or they would have realized how quickly the impostor would be found out..."

"You dither all the time," Jim said, annoyed to feel his cheeks grow hot.

"Yeah, so it's in character. You, on the other hand, dither not at all, my friend. So what is it you're trying to say. We both know I'm not going to like it so just say it."

"It's not that you won't like it," Jim started to say. 

Blair smirked. "Jim, _honey,_ just tell me," he said sarcastically, prompting an answering smirk from Jim.

"You're such a shit," the detective muttered.

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm _your_ shit," he reminded Jim with a grin. "So give, Big Guy. What's up?"

Jim took a deep breath and spilled it all at once, a trick he'd picked up from Sandburg. Put all the details in, spout them all at once, and hope to dazzle 'em with sheer volume.

"Okay, here it is. With you sick and me a cop, there's a lot that can happen, decisions that need to be made in a split second and without any legal ties to one another we lose that split second advantage, not to mention there could be inheritance issues should something happen to me on the Job, and with you sick that could translate into some serious insurance issues not to mention shit with the loft and the money, plus on a whole other side of it, we've got all these medical decisions that need to be made and the hospital keeps squawking about next-of-kin, and being your emergency contact isn't always enough, so we're dealing with all of these separate issues, which taken individually really aren't all that daunting, but piled on top of each other they need to be addressed, so I talked to a lawyer this morning--a friend of Nathan Wright's--and she specializes in this kind of thing, you know people like us, well, you know gay or whatever, and she said the best way to ensure that everything is taken care of the way we want it to be is to draw up guardianship papers; just a legal sleight- of-hand more or less that makes you my ward, and that way if there's ever any reason to need legal decisions we're all set."

All in all, Jim thought he did a pretty good job explaining it. Jeez, he was out of breath. No wonder Sandburg was always meditating and doing those breathing exercises. The kid must have the lung capacity of a dolphin....

Blair lifted his eyebrow at the older man. "Back up there, Jim. You've been reading too many Batman comic books or something. Maybe I am the sidekick, but I hardly think I'm your _ward._ "

"Come on, Blair, it doesn't really _mean_ anything. It's just a kind of...protection."

Blair shook his head, looking more amused than anything else. "You already have this, like, totally annoying habit of acting like my father when the mood hits. What happens when you have a legal right to do it?"

Jim laughed. "Do you really think some piece of paper can make me any _more_ crazy where you're concerned?"

"I'm afraid to find out," Blair said wryly. He sighed. "Jim, I'm your lover. All the other things I am--friend, Guide, partner--those are all important to me, but being your lover...that's like the one, defining role in my life. The one I cherish. This changes that."

"It doesn't," Jim said quietly. "All we're doing here is making sure that if some kind of medical treatment needs approval, it's approved. We're making sure that if something happens to me, you inherit everything without any hassle. We're not changing us at all."

Blair shook his head again. "That's like saying a marriage license won't change a relationship and invariably it does."

"And how do you know that?" Jim asked, one eyebrow cocked.

Blair glared at him. "Can't we just...I don't know...Isn't there another way to accomplish this? I mean, you already have a will, right? And I can sign some kind of paper at the hospital, can't I? We don't _have_ to do it this way."

"Theresa said this was the best way to ensure things go down the way we want them to. I just don't understand why you're so resistant to the idea."

"You're not the one still carded at the grocery store trying to buy beer," Blair grumbled. "The guys at the station all act like I'm 15 years old half the time--and _don't_ tell me it's because I act like I'm 15... This will change everything."

"It will only change things if we let it. Come on, Chief. Mind over matter."

Blair shook his head. "Sorry, Jim," he said emphatically. "But the answer is no."

And once again, Blair's case-closed voice handily silenced Jim's.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

So because I freaked out all majorly when Jim got shot, now he wants to make me his _ward_ in case something happens to him. That means Jim is, like, legally my guardian which is so totally freaky I can't even believe it, and Jim just stands there like, "What?" He said it makes medical decisions easier and "assures the wishes of the deceased should there be any questions to the estate." What the hell? Maybe he's been going to law school with all that free time he had this week.

This just keeps getting worse and worse. It's like God says, 'okay, you're handling chemo okay, let's add radiation to the mix. No problem? Well then, let's toss in a severe case of dependence? You two still standing? How will you do if we legally make your lover your guardian? Hell, if impotence, hair loss, and near constant projectile vomiting hasn't completely stifled your love life, bet _adoption_ will do the trick!'

I guess it's one thing to be completely dependent on Jim and entirely another to have it permanently established by the courts.

Worst of all, I hardly have a leg to stand on when I disagree about this. Since Jim was shot, I am in, like, major panic mode. The man's ten minutes late in the evening, and I have a core melt down. Yeah, Jim, I'm totally fine here, man, just let me scoop up the small intestines I've been heaving, and we're good to go!

I will never forget what it felt like when I opened the door and saw Simon standing there. It was like my heart exploded, and my lungs were suddenly ripped from my chest. And for a second, I knew Jim was dead. Not hurt, but dead. And I was alone and would always be alone, and it was the most awful feeling I've ever had in my entire life. And I make Jim live it every fucking day.

Knowing that, you'd think I could be generous about this guardian thing and give into the man on it, but I can't. Or I won't. Instead, I'm just kind of pissed off now.

God, I'm tired today. I threw up after breakfast, and in case you're wondering, oatmeal tastes as crappy coming up as it does going down. McVey wants to start me on steroids to increase my appetite, but I said no. Besides, my appetite is fine, it's keeping shit down that's a problem. McVey was open to prescribing marijuana for the nausea, but even though it's legal (for now), I can tell Jim's not comfortable with it, although if I really wanted to use it, I know he wouldn't say anything. I have a couple of homeopathic remedies I want to try first anyway. Naomi called this morning. She wants to come up this weekend, but I put her off. I just feel so guilty for doing this to her. Every time she looks at me, she looks so lost and sad. This is just too much for her. I've been looking out after her all my life, and I don't know how to protect her from this. I hate that.

She wants me to try some nutritional cleansing program. She asked if Jim would mind, and I told her he wouldn't because he's too busy being Mr. Perfect. It sounded snide then, too. Everyone should have my problems--saddled with a lover who's just too perfect to believe, but it pisses me off sometimes. Kind of makes me wish he was off stealing an illegal serum or something.

* * *

When Jim refused to do something Blair wanted him to do, the kid just kept at him until he'd completely worn the big cop down, and he gave in as self-defense. Jim thought the same technique might be worth a try on Blair. Serve the kid right if nothing else, give him a taste of his own medicine.

But testing Blair's resolve only made it stronger. Hell, they could bottle the stuff and put the granite, iron and steel industries out of business.

As Jim's frustration mounted, his temper shortened, and the atmosphere in the loft turned chilly. Before long, every suggestion, every thought turned into a battle of wills with the younger man.

Jim had planned to go into the precinct that Saturday morning more to escape his lover's animosity than any pressing case work. But it was a beautiful day--clear blue skies, temperatures hovering in the 60's, and suddenly, the thought of sitting in the windowless bullpen seemed criminal in and of itself. He'd ended up hanging out at the beach, hooking up with some old surfing buddies. 

Returning home after a few hours, Jim grimaced as soon as he walked in the door. He'd asked Blair to straighten up his shit, but there were more books and papers strewn about than when he'd left. Breakfast preparations littered the island and dirty dishes were piled up in the sink.

"Thought we agreed you'd clean up a bit, Chief," Jim said.

Blair smirked at him from the couch. "We don't _agree,_ " he said, "You decree. There's a difference, man."

"Yeah, well, anything to keep the vermin at bay for another day or two," he muttered, banging dishes around in the sink.

"Where were you?" Blair asked in a tight voice, his head still bowed over his laptop. "I called the precinct two hours ago, and Carla said you hadn't been there all day. Where the hell were you?"

"Whoa, Chief. Back up there!" Jim said, bristling at the kid's tone. "I changed my mind, okay? Headed to the beach instead. Sorry I didn't phone in the change of venue."

"The beach," Blair repeated. "Any reason why I wasn't invited? Any reason why you _pretend_ to be going to work then end up at the beach?!"

"What is _with_ you, Sandburg? Jesus, I was heading into the office and decided it was too nice a day for that and went to the beach instead."

"Liar!" Blair yelled, pushing the computer aside and jumping up out of his seat. "You fucking liar! Who were you with? Just tell me that, all right! Who the fuck were you with?"

"You have _lost_ it," Jim said, standing unmoving in the kitchen, stunned to paralysis by Blair's bizarre behavior.

"Just tell me this, Mr. Perfect. Is it a man or a woman. You sucking the dick of some guy who can keep it up? Or are you hungry for some woman who can make you feel like a man?"

"Jesus, I don't know why I bother," Jim muttered, 

Blair shot up from the couch. "Then don't!" He shouted. "Don't _bother_ with me! We both know I'm a short timer here! We both know I'm _so_ not worth the effort anymore! Why the fuck don't you just go back to trolling for next year's model!"

Jim leaned against the island in the kitchen and asked with deliberate calm, "Does everything have to be some fucking drama to you, Sandburg?"

"Of course, Mr. Perfect couldn't _possibly_ be doing anything wrong!" Blair said. "It _has_ to be stupid, selfish, _dramatic_ Blair making things up!"

Jim's fist came down on the counter. "I am sick to death of this Mr. Perfect shit!" he yelled. "What should I be doing, Blair? You want me to take my cue from you? Would making _you_ feel like a complete and total shit help make this any better?"

"Nothing _you_ do could make it better!" Blair cruelly replied. "You walk around here thinking you're Superman, thinking you can fix everything, thinking you can save the day. You can't do _SHIT_ , Mr. Perfect!"

"At least I try," Jim said. "At least I make an effort to do something other than mope around here. Poor, pitiful Blair, like you're the only fucking person in the world whose life isn't turning out according to plan."

"Oh whoa, what is this?!" Blair asked with mock surprise. "The big man talks back? That's a surprise! Come on, Jim, don't want to lose your daddy badge, there do you? Dr. Spock says patience is the key when raising kids these days."

Jim shook his head at Blair, then reached for his coat and keys. "Fuck you!" he muttered.

"Is that a question, Mr. Perfect?" Blair huffed. "You want a piece of your little boy's ass? You asking for permission? You don't have to ask before you take what's yours. Just fucking take it!"

Jim stopped at the door and turned back to face the younger man. "Is that what you're bucking for, Sandburg? You think if you push the right button your big, bad ass cop will _rape_ your skinny ass?" He gave a hollow laugh, totally devoid of humor. "You're an amateur. I was fucking around with the big boys when you were still riding your tricycle around in the front yard."

"What you are is full of shit," Blair scoffed. "You talk a good game, but when it comes time to put up or shut up, you're a fucking mime. Do it!" Blair challenged, surging forward, grabbing the Jim's jacket at the shoulders. "Do it, Mr. Perfect. Rip my clothes off and fuck me! Shove your dick up my ass, cut me in fucking two for all I care! Invite the neighbors and take bets on how quickly I bleed out. You were a medic, Mr. Perfect. You could make a killing. Pardon the pun."

Jim pushed Blair away with more force than was necessary. "I don't know who the fuck you are anymore," he said in a low voice, looking Blair over like he was some nasty insect on the bathroom wall. "And you know what? I don't want to."

* * *

Jim took the stairs down and headed for his truck, but stopped before unlocking the door. He wanted peace, and he sure as hell wasn't going to find that driving around on the city streets. Instead, he headed toward the beach. It was only a ten minute walk, and by the time he stepped foot on the sand, the salty smell of the ocean and the soothing sound of the incoming tide had worked their magic.

Jesus, something had to give here. The tension was going to kill them both before lymphoma or anything else had a chance to. Maybe he should just drop the whole guardian thing if it was such a point of contention to the kid. Wouldn't be the first time he'd adamantly refused to do what was best for him. But the stakes were even higher than usual here. The kid needed protection his Blessed Protector just couldn't provide without a little help from the legal system. Why was this so fucking hard for Blair? Why couldn't he just listen for once in his stubborn, obstinate life...

Jim sighed and let his head fall back. Eyes closed, he took several deep breaths and let the serenity of the deserted ocean landscape calm him further. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the ocean for a long time, until each wave was separated into droplets that were separated into molecules that twisted and turned like their fortunes. 

The danger of a zone-out was eliminated by Blair's subdued voice. "If you're thinking of tying a cement block around my neck and throwing me in, I don't blame you."

Jim jumped and whirled around. "Good God, Sandburg, what are you doing out here?" Jim asked, taking off his jacket and shoving Blair into it. "You're going to catch pneumonia for Christ's sake."

"I followed you," Blair said, gratefully wrapping the jacket around his thin frame. "Freaked that you weren't coming back."

"Sometimes, I don't think that would bother you so much," Jim said, finding it hard to meet Blair's eyes.

The kid flinched, as if to say, _Yeah, I deserved that._

Blair moved into Jim's space, so close to the taller man, he had to crane his neck to look into his eyes. "God, Jim, I'm so...I'm so _not_ this person," Blair said finally. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so fucking sorry. You think _you_ don't know who I am? I hear myself sometimes, and it's like...it's like I'm this total stranger, you know? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing half the time, and the other half I know what I'm doing and I hate it, and I hate myself, but I don't know how to stop it, how to turn it off. I didn't mean any of that, Jim. I swear I didn't!"

Jim stared out at the white caps. "This isn't who I am either, you know," he said quietly. "I'm not that...that sick caricature of perfection you keep throwing in my face. You really make me feel like shit, you know?"

"I'm sorry!" Blair whispered, pushing still closer to Jim, desperation giving off a scent that smelled very much like fear. "I'll be good, Jim, I swear. Don't be mad at me, I'm sorry! I won't...I won't be... be like that, I'm sorry, okay?"

Jim cringed inwardly and realized he'd rather have Blair screaming at him than cowering like this. An angry, bitter Blair was less a stranger than this broken man before him.

With a sigh, he offered Blair his hand, his heart dipping at how eagerly Blair reached for it. They walked home that way, hand-in- hand, slowly, silently, oblivious to the stares of others as they passed.

"I'm sorry," Blair said softly as Jim deposited him on the couch. He refused to give up the detective's hand. "Don't be mad at me, okay?"

"I'm not mad," Jim said, running his free hand up and down Blair's back. "Not anymore," he clarified when Blair shot him a doubtful look that was more Sandburg than Jim had seen in the last few days. "But we've got to stop this. It isn't good for either one of us."

"I feel...all ground up inside," Blair said, finally releasing Jim's hand so he could hang up his jacket. "All full of rusty nails and spikes, and everything's awful, and nobody gets it, and I want to... hurt everyone who isn't going through the exact same thing. I'm sorry, Jim. I'll do better, I promise."

"You notice how this shit always happens when we forget to work together and go off on our separate ways?" Jim mused. "Hey, Chief, I'm just as guilty of it as you are," he continued when Blair looked like he was about to disagree. "I should have talked to you before going to see Theresa Perez. We've gotta stick together here."

Blair nodded slowly. "Does that mean...does that mean you'll drop this whole guardian thing?"

Jim smiled sadly and shook his head. "I should have talked to you about it first," he admitted. "We should have gone to see Theresa together. I knew that about five seconds after I sat down in her office. I should have handled it differently, but we really need this protection right now. Come on, Sweetheart, let's just get this settled and move on."

"I don't need a father, Jim," Blair said quietly. "I never did. That's not what I need." He made a face that was all self-deprecation. "Okay, my behavior the last few days probably doesn't go a long way to proving that, but I'm not a kid, Jim. And I'm sure as hell not _your_ kid."

Jim sat down next to the kid, smiling fondly at him. He brushed a make-believe strand of hair behind Blair's ear, missing the ever- present stubble that used to shade his jaw.

"You like being my baby, don't you?" Jim asked in a low voice.

"You know I do," Blair answered. He slid his arms around Jim's neck and nuzzled at his ear. "And you also know that being your baby has absolutely _nothing_ to do with being treated like a kid. In fact, it means being treated very much like an adult."

Jim caught Blair's mouth and kissed him deeply. "Then why don't you think of this as being legally declared my baby?"

Blair laughed at Jim's suggestion. "Oh yeah, I can just _see_ Simon volunteering to witness the signing of _that_ contract!" he said.

"It won't change anything," Jim promised.

Blair sighed and pushed up off the couch. "That's not true. God, Jim, things are already different. They have been for a long time. Maybe they always will be."

Jim stood behind Blair, staring at their reflection in the balcony door. "Well, if things always stay different then at least from this point on, they'll always be the same."

Blair gave a surprised cough of laughter and met Jim's smiling eyes in the window. Shared laughter, a rare commodity lately, swelled in the loft and warmed them both.

"I love you," Jim said in a soft voice. 

"I love _you,_ " Blair said, a hint of a challenge in his tone as he turned to face his lover.

The detective smiled and tightened his hold. "I love you more," he replied and felt the bubble of laughter in Blair's chest.

"I love you better."

"I love you harder."

"I love you longer."

"Oo, that's cruel," Jim groaned, staggering a little with Blair still in his arms. "Slam the old man for his stamina. Low, Sandburg, very low."

"Maybe I can make it up to you," Blair said, smiling and batting those big blue eyes in perfect innocence. 

And then he did.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Okay, so Jim and I had this knockdown, drag out, and the upshot is, things finally feel, like, _normal_ between us. The downshot is I said I'd sign the fucking guardianship papers, which means our normal days are numbered. How Jim thinks he can practically adopt me and everything between us stay the same, I don't know, but he's totally convinced it won't change anything, and I feel like too much the world's biggest shit to fight him on it anymore.

I had no idea how much I was hurting Jim. I mean, I knew I was being shitty, but I guess I just figured he'd chalk it up to me being selfish and immature. I have a hard time believing that I have that kind over emotional power of him, which is ludicrous given what happened the last time I was sick...

Hey, some good news around here for a change. Jackie Brown had her baby this morning. A little girl they named Sandra. Henri said they're calling her Sandy, kind of after me, pretty cool, huh? I told him that was awesome, and we joked around because, I was, like, way touched and all, but it was Jim who started sniffing and coughing and complaining about the pollen in the air. She weighed nine pounds, six ounces. A real fighter, according to Jackie. Man, they sounded thrilled. I'm not supposed to go to the hospital to see her, but Jackie's calling as soon as they're home and settled. I told Henri Jim should have a hold of himself by then. Jim heaved a pillow at me, but had to go blow his nose before I could retaliate. Some tough guy, huh?

* * *

Jim expected Blair to be tense and cross that Monday morning. Both Theresa and Simon were coming over to finalize the guardianship papers. 

But when Blair opened the door for Simon, and the captain asked how he was doing, Blair looked comically surly. "It's bad enough, he goes overboard on this Blessed Protector thing, but to have it, like, legalized..." His voice trailed off, and he shuddered dramatically to convey his horror.

Jim rolled his eyes at the drama and reminded Blair that it wasn't a big deal. "It's just a little legal sleight-of-hand." 

"That's easy for you to say," Blair pointed out. "They're not making me the legal guardian of anybody."

"Thank God," Simon deadpanned.

"We've been over this," Jim said. "This is just in case of a medical emergency..."

"Like we're not in the middle of one already," muttered Blair, grinning with Simon at Jim's annoyance.

"Besides," Jim continued. "This tidies up the issue of inheritance rights and all that."

Blair lifted a casual brow at his lover. "Owning nothing kind of accomplishes that without all the legal mumbo jumbo," he pointed out.

"Well, Chief, some of us actually have possessions worthy of passing down. The guardian thing works both ways, you know?"

Blair grinned his brattiest grin at his lover. "Come on, Big Guy. The only things of yours I want, you're taking with you when you go..."

"Sandburg!" Simon shouted, right on cue.

When Theresa arrived, she and Blair were introduced, and they spent a few minutes sharing stories about their mutual friend, Nathan.

Sandburg gave no indication whatsoever that he'd ever disagreed with the process. Half of that was the involuntary influx of Sandburg charm required in the presence of a beautiful woman. He was pouring it on for Theresa, and Jim shook his head at his twinge of annoyance.

When Theresa excused herself to the bathroom, Jim leveled a pointed glare at his lover. "Down, Boy," he growled, and realized then that Sandburg had been testing him.

A broad grin spread over Blair's face. "Just checkin'," he said.

Jim shook his head, but was pleased nonetheless that Blair spent the rest of the time tucked up under his arm.

No sooner had the papers been signed than Simon was beeped and he and Jim were called to the scene of a jewelry heist downtown.

Blair sighed and shook his head at the offer to go with them. He had papers to grade, and with chemo the next morning, he had to get them done immediately.

Jim headed for the door, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Sandburg!" he barked.

Blair looked up from the laptop and lifted an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing at the shit-eating grin that split Jim's face from ear to ear. 

Jim winked and lifted his chin at his lover before dropping his voice to a sexy growl. "Who's your daddy?"

With a roar, Blair heaved a magazine at Jim's head. The detective easily ducked, and it sailed past him. 

With another saucy wink at his lover, Jim sauntered out the door and laughed all the way down to the truck.

* * *

The only noticeable change following the signing of the guardianship papers was the extra care Jim took to make sure there were no changes. Blair made a point to mention it to the big guy every time he did it.

Things seemed to settle down then, which, strange enough, unnerved Jim. Living with Blair's illness, living with cancer shouldn't feel...normal, should it? Jim hated it that things which should have saddened him, angered him, horrified him, were now second nature. It seemed wrong, somehow, that their lives should be orderly and predictable within this tragedy. 

Jim said as much to Blair, who replied with gentle amusement that he guessed it was just too hard to maintain a constant sense of calamity.

Still, it nagged at Jim as he helped Blair bathe or tried to coax some dinner into him, or typed one of his papers because Blair was too tired or sick to do it himself. 

_This shouldn't feel normal, should it? This shouldn't feel right._

It was actually Blair who suggested a day at the beach when another sunny Saturday came around. Two such days in one springtime had to be a record in Cascade, he pointed out to Jim. 

By the time they got the truck loaded and headed out, it was cloudy, and a light wind had picked up.

"We might actually see some waves, Chief," Jim said brightly. 

"Yeah, you can show me some moves," Blair said, lecherously wiggling his eyebrows and chuckling when Jim looked pleased by the thought.

Despite the overcast skies, the beach was fairly crowded. Jim dumped pillows and a sleeping bag on the sand, then jogged back to help Blair make his way over. It was hard for the younger man to balance on the sandy beach.

"Too cold?" Jim asked, drawing the sleeping bag around Blair's shoulders.

Blair shrugged. "Hate to tell you, man, but we could be sitting on the Equator these days, and I'd still be freezing my ass off."

"Maybe this wasn't such a great idea," Jim said, glancing over Blair's shoulder toward the truck.

Shivering, Blair shook his head. "Just watching you in that wet suit ups my temp a few degrees," he teased.

"I'm nothing but a beautiful bod to you," Jim said, but he looked like the idea didn't bother him all that much.

"Hey, it's not my fault such a great catch comes in such a fine package."

"Ah, flattery gets you everywhere, Sandburg," Jim said with a grin.

"Go ride some waves, Surfer Boy," Blair said. "Shake your tight ass for me."

"My one and only," Jim said softly, and shocked the hell out of Blair by kissing him. He laughed over his shoulder at Blair's surprised expression and jogged over to pick up his board in one fluid motion. He felt Blair's eyes on him as he paddled out to catch a wave, and after he turned and jumped to a crouched position, he zeroed in on Blair's eyes. Blair obviously knew he would focus in on him, and he stared intensely, almost as if he had enhanced vision, too. Rocked by the thought, Jim was caught unaware by a surging wave and with a shout of surprise, felt his board shoot out from under him. He surfaced sputtering and immediately tuned in to the sound of Blair laughing. Smirking, Jim paddled over to his board.

"Some Sentinel _you_ are," Blair said, rocking with mirth.

With a growl of frustration, Jim turned his board around and headed back out. Sometimes, Sandburg made him feel 75 years old, some decrepit old geezer trying to recapture his youth by chasing around a kid nearly 15 years his junior. 

And sometimes, like now, the kid made him feel like an adolescent. Jim wanted to be the tallest jumper, the fastest runner, the best surfer, just to show Blair how wonderful he was. It was all so silly, but that look Sandburg gave, the wide-eyed look that was part affection, part adoration, and part patient indulgence was as addicting as any drug Jim knew.

Jim caught a wave and rode it nearly to shore, grinning triumphantly when it died out and he sank gracefully into the salt water. His heart dipped and sputtered when he focused in on Blair. Ahhh, there it was. The look.

Jim stood up in the waist deep water and headed over to the younger man. He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Jim, Owen and I were sorry to hear that Blair's sick again," said Abby Detrich. Her husband was a vice cop who had worked with Jim before his transfer to Major Crimes. "We want you two to come out on the boat this summer, okay? Fourth of July party for sure, all right?"

"Count on it," Jim said, careful not to look Blair's way. The kid hated it when people talked about his illness, almost as much as he hated their ignoring it. "Thanks, Abby," he said sincerely. She impulsively hugged him and then laughed nervously as they broke apart.

Jim jogged on up to Blair and tidied up the blankets around him. "You okay?" Jim asked. "You tell me when you want to leave."

"I'm fine," Blair said. "I thought you told me you could surf, Big Guy?"

Jim smirked at the younger man. "That second wave was a perfect ride, Sandburg. Just you wait 'til I get your ass out there. It's not as easy as I make it look."

Blair laughed and shook his head. "Don't need a Sentinel sense of smell to know _you're_ full of shit," he said affectionately.

"Takes one to know one," Jim said, playfully bumping Blair's shoulder with his own.

"No doubt," Blair replied happily. He shivered suddenly, and pulled the thick sleeping bag more securely around him. "Go on, Big Guy," he said nodding toward the water. "See if you can't get me all hot and bothered."

Jim grinned and headed back to the ocean. "Or bothered anyway!" Blair called.

Later in the day, Jim was talking to another cop he'd worked with in Vice, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blair talking with Celeste McDonald, another one of Jim's surfer friends. Blair looked tense, drawn up. The amount of personal space he required had greatly increased since he got sick. He'd always been a person who used his voice and his eyes to create a sense of intimacy with people, it drew people to him, literally. But sickness had made him pull back. Part of that was physical--loud noises, a touch, a smell, could all lead to sickness. Part of it was emotional, no doubt. Distancing himself to keep others from hurting, to keep himself from hurting.

Celeste only spoke to him for a minute or two. Later she approached Jim, and once again, he found himself being hugged. "God, Jim, I didn't know," she said quietly. "Erik and I feel awful about Blair! If we'd known we would have...I don't know, been in touch, you know."

"Thanks, honey," Jim said. "I know. Blair's kind of being low key with this."

"I just...God, I just wish there was something we could do! Something we could say! I mean, this is awful no matter what, but Blair is just so special, you know? Oh, God, listen to me telling you about Blair!"

Jim chuckled and shook his head. "No, I know what you mean. It is awful, Celly, but we're okay. Blair's going to be okay, I know it."

Celeste smiled warmly, and not that fake 'He's-crazy-but-I'd-better- humor-him smile Jim was getting more and more either. "Good," she said succinctly. "Besides, Sandburg is the only one who can get Ricky to keep those awful snakes of his in the bedroom!"

Jim threw his head back and laughed, hugging Celeste and kissing her cheek before he went to check on Blair.

Blair was silent as Jim approached and paler, too. "You doin' okay, Sandburg?" Jim asked, feeling his forehead for his temp. "Ready to head home?"

Blair pushed his hand away and shook his head. Jim rode a few more waves, but Blair's silence took most of the enjoyment out of his rides, so he quietly packed up their stuff and headed home. Every question he asked the kid was met with stony silence, until Jim heaved an annoyed sigh and said, "Look, Sandburg, you either answer me, or you can answer the admitting doctor at the hospital. What's wrong? Are you sick?" They were home by then. Blair hopped out of the truck and Jim followed, forgetting the stuff loaded into the back.

"Ask a stupid question," Blair muttered, stomping into the elevator.

"Okay, then I take it you're _pissed._ " Jim said. "What'd I do now? That pesky inhaling/exhaling thing again? I've really gotta learn to not to breathe around you, don't I?"

"Well excuse me if I don't enjoy seeing all those women on death watch. I know what they're thinking--how long 'til Sandburg kicks it and Ellison's a free agent again? Jeez, they might as well be selling lottery tickets. Free dinner with Detective Ellison for the women who comes closest to Blair's actual expiration date!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't know what's going on? You think I don't know what all that hugging is about? All those _concerned_ looks at the soon-to-be widowed detective? Well fuck them! Fuck you! At least wait 'til I'm gone if you won't wait 'til I'm cold!"

"Now just hold on there a minute!" Jim ordered.

"You all think I'm going to pull some...some noble crap about wanting you to find someone and be happy! Fuck you! Fuck all of you! You're mine, and if you think I'm going to sit around and applaud you for getting on with your life, you're wrong! Do you hear me? Wrong!"

"Blair, I'm not..."

"I'm still here, God dammit! I'm not your kid, and I'm still here, and you can't act like I'm not! You can't hug them and tell them you'll call them! You can't have them! You're mine! You're mine and I'm still here!"

Jim stood there feeling stupid. _Did I miss a few frames, here? What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I totally went off on Jim tonight. Man, I don't know what came over me, but I just completely wigged out on the guy. This morning we went to the beach. A bunch of Jim's surf buddies were there, and I tagged along to watch. The waves were high, and Jim had a great time. He's so beautiful when he smiles, and when he laughs, God, it's breathtaking. Add in the fact that he was laughing and smiling in a wet suit, and you can imagine how fucking hot he was. And it's not like I was the only one there with eyes. Half the women--and probably half of the men--were licking their chops over him, and at first I felt all superior, because he was with me. Because he's mine. 

Jim kept coming back to check on me to make sure I wasn't too cold (no such luck) or feeling too sick. Man, he had droplets of water on his face as he was leaning down over me, fussing with the blankets and stuff. He even kissed me once, real quick, but right out there on the beach. Then he jogged back to the ocean, and his ass looked good enough to eat. And I'm sitting there, watching him, and, like, nothing happens. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. I pretty much got used to the fact that I can't hold an erection, but now I can't even fucking _get_ one. 

And all these women are flirting with Jim like fucking dogs in heat, and being Mr. Perfect, he's gotta be all polite and flirt back with them, and I just felt like such a total, worthless shit. What if it never comes back. Radiation can cause impotence, you know. And then I just started thinking, which we all know is dangerous if left unchecked. So I'm sitting there thinking that Jim was never hot and heavy into the male side of things before me... and maybe he's not even really into it anymore, but now he can't get out of it without looking like some total heel who's leaving his dying lover. 

And I'm watching those women paw him and I just kept getting angrier and angrier at him because...well, because I'm dying and he's not. Because I'll be gone and he'll still have this whole life ahead of him, and I just couldn't stand to have him proving that to me, I couldn't stand knowing there'll be someone else after me. I didn't say another word to him until we got home. He was all bothered that our little outing had been too much for me, but when we got to the loft, I let him have it. Screamed at him that he was mine and I wasn't dead yet and he couldn't have any of those women until after I was gone. He looked at me like I was shouting in Swahili or something. Naturally I feel like a complete idiot now, which makes me pissed all over again. 

This just so totally sucks I can't even stand it.

Continued in part five.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Continued from part four. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part five 

The next morning, Blair was already awake and slumped on the couch when Jim cautiously descended the stairs. He poured himself a cup of coffee and gingerly sat down across from him.

"Can we talk about what happened yesterday?" Jim asked quietly.

Blair shrugged and looked away. "You wouldn't be this nice about it if I wasn't sick," he said idly.

Jim thought about that for a minute. "But you are sick," he said finally.

Blair nodded and looked surprised that Jim had pointed it out. "If I wasn't sick, you would have just called me a spoiled brat and slammed around the loft for a few days until I apologized."

"If you weren't sick, none of this would have happened."

Blair shrugged and half-heartedly refuted the point. "You're not the only one around here who gets jealous."

"But I am the only one who irrationally acts on it and makes an ass of himself," Jim said. "Usually."

"I don't have to like it when some woman is all over you," Blair said defiantly.

"No, you don't." Jim agreed. "But you don't have to be all pissed off at me about it either."

"I guess," Blair said, refusing to look at Jim.

Jim moved over to sit next to his lover. "Blair, you know I love you. Helplessly, hopelessly, single-mindedly. You know you have nothing to worry about from anybody, much less Abby Detrich or Celeste McDonald."

Blair fiddled with his shirt. "But I'm leaving," he mumbled, and the way he looked at Jim and quickly ducked his head told the older man he wasn't pushing buttons or picking a fight. "I'll be gone, and they'll still be here and they can have you then, and it _sucks!_ "

"There'll never be anyone for me but you," Jim said, eyes boring clear through his dejected young lover as he reached out to caress his leg.

"Don't say that!" Blair said irritably, shoving Jim's hand away from him.

"Why?" Jim asked easily. "It's true."

"Because that's where I'm supposed to say, 'Oh no, I want you to find someone and love them and be happy,' and I can't, all right? I can't say that! I hate it that you'll find someone else. I hate everyone that could be with you when I'm not! And then I hate myself for being so selfish, and then..."

"Whoa, whoa, there Chief, slow down. You're it for me, Blair. You know that. There's not going to be anyone else..."

"Oh yeah, Jim, you're just going to live the next 30 to 40 years all by yourself?" Blair snorted. "That's, like, so totally unrealistic it doesn't even bear discussing. You'll be bummed for awhile, but you'll meet someone eventually...probably some woman and she'll be all beautiful and perfect and you'll have those kids you always told me you didn't even want, and you'll be this happy, perfect family, and everybody will think that's what you really wanted all along and they'll forget you were even with me, or they'll figure it was this huge mistake that you finally corrected and then it'll be like I was never even here!"

Jim sat back, stunned at the unexpected ferocity of Blair's words. "That's what you think of me?" he asked finally. "That's how shallow you think I am? That this is some kind of _game_ because I feel sorry for you or something?" He hadn't meant to, but Jim was shouting by the time he was finished.

"I don't think you're shallow!" Blair snapped. "I think you're human! And I wish you'd stop pretending like we're living in some stupid fairy tale where loving each other can somehow turn into 'they lived happily ever after!'" Blair flounced over to the couch and threw himself on it, the argument effectively over when he almost immediately fell asleep.

Shaking his head at the sweetness of Blair's sleeping face, Jim couldn't help the rueful chuckle that escaped him. It was enough to give a guy whiplash dealing with the ever-changing moods of his young lover. Before Blair got sick, his moods were so genuine. Anger meant he was mad, fear meant he was afraid, sadness meant he was sad. There was no guesswork involved. Jim was finally learning that now anger was masking fear, and that fear made Blair angry, and nothing Jim could say was going to make anything any better.

Well, maybe he couldn't _say_ anything to make it better, but there was something he could _do._ Jim got on the phone and began making a series of calls.

When Blair woke up, Jim made dinner and tidied up the loft. Blair was still pissed; the anger rolled off him in waves Jim could swear he felt as heat. Not that he mentioned the strange sensation to the kid--the detective said little to nothing, lest he set off another tirade. 

Around seven, there was a knock at the door. Blair sighed in annoyance, but made no move to get up. Hiding a grin, Jim stood up and answered the door.

It was Henri, Jackie and Sandy. "Hey, guys!" Jim said cheerfully. "Look who's here, Chief," he said, eyes innocently wide. Jim moved back and let the new family into the loft.

Sprawled on the couch, Blair struggled into a sitting position, an enormous smile on his face. "Aw, man! Hey there! Come on in! Come in!" Blair watched with bright eyes as Jackie sat down next to him and placed Sandy's car seat between them. "Can I hold her?" he asked.

"You better!" Jackie said, unbuckling the baby and lifting her into Blair's arms.

Brown shook his head at Blair's relaxed demeanor. "How do you do that?" he asked. "I still think I'm gonna crush her every time I pick her up!"

Blair laughed as Sandy found his finger and grabbed it. "Oh, man, what a grip!" he said. "I don't think you have to worry, Brown! She's tough as nails!"

Jim hadn't closed the front door all the way, and the clatter of feet on the stairway reached the loft. Jim leaned against the open door and smiled as Joel and Amanda Taggart and their daughters came in. "Blair! Blair!" the little girls cried, running over to the couch, squealing in excitement over the little baby in Blair's arms. 

"Look how tiny!" Beth exclaimed. "Mommy, was I ever that tiny?"

"You certainly were!" Mrs. Taggart told her. 

"I brought you two pictures!" Patty was telling Blair.

"The fridge is almost full!" Blair said, beaming at the little girl. "You'll have to find a place to hang them, okay?"

"And mine too, right?" Beth asked excitedly. "We get to hang mine, too!"

"Of _course_ we're going to hang yours!" Blair answered. 

"Are you still sick, Blair?" Patty asked. "Daddy said you're sick, but you don't look sick. Just bald."

Blair laughed, as much at Joel's look of chagrin as at Patty's honesty. "I'm still a _little_ sick," Blair said. "The medicine I take makes my hair fall out, but it'll grow back when I'm better."

"But it doesn't hurt, right?" Patty asked. She asked Blair that question every time she saw him.

Blair gently shook his head. "No, honey, it doesn't hurt," he assured her. Sandy started fussing then, and Blair handed her back to her mom, who ducked in to Blair's old room to feed her. Patty and Beth took charge in the kitchen, rearranging old drawings to make room for the new ones. Jim was serving soda pop and juice when Simon and Darryl arrived.

"You got room for two more?" Simon asked.

"Darryl!" Blair said, offering his hand to the teenager.

"Blair, dude! What's up?" Darryl asked.

"You tell me, man," Blair said. He gestured around the loft. "This is my world these days. Give me some scoop from the outside!"

Out on the balcony with Simon, Jim easily heard Blair and Darryl talking. "So anyway, Blair, I was, uh, kind of wondering."

"What?" Blair asked.

"Well, you know I turn 16 in a couple of months, right?"

"Right."

"Well, see, I was thinking, maybe you would...you would take me driving sometime?" Darryl asked hopefully. "I mean, my mom is, like, a total nervous Nelly and you know my dad--he won't stop screaming from the second I rev the engine, so I was thinking maybe you'd take me."

"Aw, gee, Darryl, I don't know," Blair started to say.

"I'll be real careful, Blair!" Darryl promised. "I won't be reckless, and I'll listen to everything you say... Come on, man, say you'll do it!"

Blair laughed easily. "Well, it can't be any worse than the time I tried to teach Alec Sommers to drive," he said. Darryl looked confused. "I never told you about that?" Blair asked. Darryl shook his head, so Blair launched into the story of Alec and the now dearly departed Corvair.

Simon grinned at the sound of Darryl's raucous laughter. "Kid's been surly all weekend long," he said, shaking his head. "But Blair somehow turns him into Mr. Congeniality." 

"Sir, you're looking at the definition of surly," Jim said in a low voice. "Calling you guys was pure self-defense. It was either that or lock up my gun and throw away the cutlery. Sandburg's been on a rampage for 48 hours now."

Simon nodded sympathetically. "It's gotta be hard for the kid," he said. 

"The kid, nothing!" Jim said indignantly. "I'm the one whose life is in danger!"

It was close to nine o'clock before the loft cleared out. Blair was exhausted, but the wretched mood seemed to have vanished. Sitting back on the couch, the younger man watched Jim wash dishes and sweep the floor.

"How do you do that?" Blair asked, as Jim turned the dishwasher on.

"Sandburg, I've showed you how the appliances work a hundred times now," Jim said, grinning at Blair's smirk.

"No man, really, I want to know. How do you know the one thing that will make me feel better? I've been looking for it for almost a week now, but you just...know. Is it a Sentinel thing or what?"

Jim shrugged, his voice almost apologetic as he said, "It's an I- love-you thing, Blair. I know you think I'm faking it, or trying to make this into some artificially romantic thing, but..."

"I don't think that," Blair said softly. "I just...I just said that stuff because I knew it would hurt you. I felt lousy and wanted you to, too."

"I kind of figured that," Jim said, carefully sitting down next to Blair and drawing him close. "Figured seeing a bunch of screaming kids would give you a dose of good cheer, not to mention cutting me some slack for a few hours."

"Sorry," Blair said drowsily. "I can really be a shit, can't I?"

Jim chuckled softly. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Sandburg," he said, and kissed the younger man's temple before settling him against his chest so he could sleep.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Everything's okay between Jim and me. We talked a little, but really it was just Jim being Jim--and knowing me better than I know myself that put everything right again. I said some pretty nasty stuff--most of which I didn't mean. I guess it does bug me sometimes the way he puts Us on this pedestal, like we're some unique, never-before-seen attraction or something. He really does think that our loving each other can fix just about anything. He can be such a hopeless romantic. But I like that about him. It's so out of character. No one would expect it from this hardened military man, but the inner core of him oozes a gentle sweetness that is so damn endearing. He's lost so much in his life, I hate to think I'm adding to that burden. And doing it way ungraciously, I'm afraid. 

In the end, I had another temper tantrum, and Jim called in reinforcements--the Browns, the Taggarts, and Simon and Darryl. The loft was teeming with screaming kids, lots of laughter. Noise! Lots and lots of noise! Man, did I feel better after that. Dog tired, but totally cleansed. Much better than burning sage--I'll have to make sure to tell Naomi. I asked Jim how he knew me so well, like, was it a Sentinel thing or what. Jim said it was an I-love-you thing. I'm going to remember that for a long time.

* * *

Blair seemed better after that, or perhaps just more resigned. 

When their anniversary rolled around, Jim wanted to make sure the kid knew exactly what his feelings were.

The evening of the anniversary, they shared a candlelight dinner-- cold cereal and toast in deference to Blair's queasy stomach from chemo a few days earlier--and then they exchanged gifts.

Jim tore open his package first--obviously a record album. He turned it over and stared dumbly at the cover. It was a 1925 victrola recording of Alfred "Two Tone" Campbell. There were less than 25 known copies; it was considered one of the rarest jazz recordings in existence. Jim gruffly cleared his throat. "Sandburg, my God, how did you...Jesus, Chief, this is...do you have any idea how rare...how did you begin to..."

"Dithering Man returns!" Blair said, an enormous smile plastered across his face. "You like it, right, Jim?"

"Like it?" Jim echoed incredulously. "Blair this is...this is fucking unbelievable! How did you manage this?"

Blair grinned, eyes widening with the excitement of a story teller. "Marnie Wilkins, she's a teaching fellow in the music department, her boyfriend is a third year in the medical school, right? Well, his sister is a freshman at Rainier, almost flunking out of calculus, but all the good math tutors were booked months ago. Now, it just so happens that I know Alan Knisely is, like, Calculus Guru extraordinaire, but he's _also_ totally obsessed with running. Has it in his mind that he's going to, like, win the Cascade Marathon and catapult himself to marathon stardom or something. Anyway, the guy's a bit out there--you know how geniuses are, right..."

Jim grinned and shook his head in indulgent exasperation, "Do I ever," he mused.

Blair rolled his eyes, "Anyway, the guy needs a personal trainer, 'cause the ones he hired keep dropping like flies, but I was talking to Rodger Franklin..."

"The guy who owns my gym?" the detective asked in surprise.

"Yeah, Rodger. So I'm talking to Rodger, and I'm telling him how great the place is looking and stuff, and he's saying yeah, but it's hard to build a client base, and I say, yeah, but if we just talk up the gym at the station, we can pretty much get butts in the seats, with the added bonus of 'round-the-clock security. Word gets out his gym is, like, the unofficial Major Crimes workout facility, people are going to turn out, you know? So I promised Rodger five new clients by the end of the week in return for becoming Alan's personal trainer, in return for Alan tutoring Tracy, in return for Marnie tracking down the recording for me. Piece of cake, man."

Jim shook his head in disbelief and said. "Society goes back to the barter system, you'll be giving Bill Gates a run for it." He smiled and ran his hand over the front of the album. "I can't believe you went to all that trouble to get me this."

"Are you kidding? It was a blast!" Blair said.

"This had to of cost you an arm and a leg, Chief."

"I just happened to have an arm and a leg to spare," Blair said with a careless shrug. 

Jim was still shaking his head. "No one's ever done anything like this for me, Blair. Thank you."

Blair's eyes softened. "Someone should have," he said quietly. "I know I've been hell to live with lately, Big Guy. I love you for sticking with me. You're like, the poster child for in sickness and in health, you know?"

Jim grinned broadly and pulled Blair in for a kiss. "I love you too, Baby," he said. 

Jim's gift to Blair was the usual--two payments on Blair's student loan, which was always appreciated by the younger man. When they first got together, Blair had balked at the idea of Jim paying off his loan. The money was readily available, the ever practical Jim had pointed out, what was the big deal? Blair wouldn't even dignify the question with an answer, but they'd finally lit on a compromise where every occasion that called for a gift, Jim was allowed to make two--and only two--payments.

Blair was inordinately pleased that Jim had stuck to his usual gift, and was offering up proper thanks, when Jim suddenly broke the kiss to stand up and retrieve a beer. 

"Hey, what's this?" Jim asked, pulling a professionally wrapped, rectangular box out of the fridge. "To the Big Guy?" he read the card and turned ridiculously innocent eyes to Blair. "What's this, Chief?" he asked. "You got me something _else?_ "

Blair looked enormously confused. "I didn't get you anything else..." He registered Jim's feigned air of innocence and relaxed back in the couch. "That's funny," he said, grinning and scratching his temple. "I don't remember doing any other shopping."

Jim grinned back. "You haven't been well," he reminded the younger man. "Probably hard to remember all the things you do in a fevered haze."

"Probably," Blair agreed. "Well we both know I have impeccable taste, I'm sure whatever it is will be great, right?"

"I'm sure of it," Jim said mildly. He rejoined Blair on the couch and tore the paper off the box and opened it to reveal another, smaller box. 

Blair lifted his eyebrow at Jim. "Aren't I clever?"

Jim leaned his head back and kissed him. "That you are, Chief." He unwrapped the smaller package and found a velvet covered box from a jewelry store. Jim grinned at the confused curiosity he saw on Blair's face. Opening the box, he felt Blair's surprised intake of air. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" Jim asked, holding the gold band up to the light. "Hey, isn't this like the one you wear, Chief?" he asked innocently.

Blair smiled at him with soft, dreamy eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It sure is."

"Well now, wasn't that thoughtful of you to get me one."

"That's me, Big Guy," Blair said, "Thoughtful through and through."

Jim dropped the innocent act and held the ring out to Blair. "You want the honors, Baby?"

Blair nodded and took the gold band and slid it on to Jim's finger. They both sighed in unison, then chuckled at themselves. "What do you know, a perfect fit," Jim said, holding his hand out for Blair to see.

Blair brought the hand to his chest and cradled it there for a moment, then lifted it up to his lips and kissed the cool metal, now warming on Jim's hand. "Thank you," he said softly.

"That's my line," Jim said with a smile. He laid back on the couch and held his arms out so Blair could fit himself against Jim's chest without undo pain. Jim sighed once Blair was situated and lightly encircled the younger man in an embrace. "You're not my kid," Jim whispered. "I don't think of you like that, Baby. Not ever. You're my heart and soul, my alpha and omega, but you're not my kid."

Blair was shivering so Jim grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tucked it all around him, sighing and kissing the top of Blair's head when the chills stopped. "Mmm, I've missed this," Jim whispered, one hand gently gliding up and down Blair's back. "Just the two of us, alone, no distractions, no...people." He said it like it was a dirty word.

Jim felt Blair smile against his chest. "I thought Mr. Perfect had put my Neanderthal Man out of commission," he said fondly.

"No such luck," Jim said with a self-deprecating smile Blair couldn't see. "Just lurking further in the shadows, I guess."

The logs in the fireplace cracked and sparks shot up the chimney. They watched the shadows dance and listened to the warm, scratchy sounds of Two Tone Campbell. "Is this another one of those 'all's right with the world' times for you?" Blair asked drowsily.

Jim smiled slowly. "Oh yeah," he sighed, hugging Blair just a little bit more tightly.

"Me too," Blair said quietly. "Don't let me forget, 'kay?"

* * *

Jim groaned when the alarm clock sounded. Jeez, it felt like he just closed his eyes. He squinted at the clock and inwardly shrugged. That wasn't far from the truth. Chemo the day before had been brutal; Blair threw up long into the night and slept restlessly when at all.

There was a sense of desperation in the air now. The doctors were switching around medication and doses, suggesting experimental therapies. Blair laughingly pointed out that things had to be pretty damn serious if the _doctors_ were suggesting alternative medicine.

The effects grew harsher and harsher, and as they did, Blair grew weaker, the strength almost visibly draining from him like sand from a sieve.

Jim sighed, depressed that the extra hour in the morning he and Blair used to use messing around was now devoted to getting Blair up and dressed and downstairs. Jim wasn't comfortable with Liddy or one of the other home care nurses maneuvering down the stairs with Blair, so he took care of the early morning chores.

Before waking Blair, Jim showered and shaved, made the coffee and ate a bowl of cereal. He washed his dirty dishes, poured Blair some orange juice and set it next to the couch, then went upstairs. Jim always felt a twinge of regret that Blair didn't wake up on his own. It seemed cruel somehow to wake him up just to lug him downstairs and tell him to go back to sleep.

Jim gently brought the younger man awake, used to his early- morning confusion, but not enough so that he didn't flash back on the seizure he'd had months earlier. "Morning," Jim said, when Blair's eyes cleared enough to understand.

"Mm," was Blair response.

"You ready to sit up?" asked Jim, brushing his hand across Blair's forehead and putting his temperature at 101, within normal range for the day after chemo. Blair nodded, biting his lips to keep from groaning as Jim lifted him to a sitting position. He wavered for a moment, but Jim kept a steadying hand on his shoulder until he was balanced. Blair sat still while Jim dressed him in sweat pants and sweat shirt, not helping much but not hindering either. Blair brushed the front of the sweatshirt, one of Jim's oversized college shirts. He smiled up at Jim, who couldn't help but smile back at him. "Okay, let's go," Jim said, bringing Blair's arms up around his neck. Hands on Blair's waist, Jim helped him to stand, waiting for the dizziness to pass before slowly heading down the stairs.

He helped Blair urinate, then washed his face and stood by supervising the brushing of his teeth. "Down," Blair muttered exhaustedly as Jim wiped his mouth.

Jim got Blair settled on the couch. He coaxed down a few swallows of orange juice, but the offer of toast or oatmeal was refused with a firm head shake, which was just as well, because Blair spit up the little juice he'd drunk. "Sorry," he rasped, as Jim cleaned him up and replaced the soiled blanket with another.

"That's okay," Jim said, kissing the top of his head. "Why don't you go back to sleep, hm? Liddy will be here in a few minutes, but if you don't want me to go..." Jim let his words trail off. Blair was already asleep, as if Jim's words were a hypnotic suggestion. Jim smiled briefly, brushing his hand across Blair's face. "That's it, Baby," he said softly. "You sleep."

The serum would only give them a remission, it wasn't a cure, Jim suddenly reminded himself. It would only buy them time. Two years, maybe three. Of course, who knows what medical advances could be made in that time. Two years was better than two months. Two years was better than nothing. Two years was two years more than it looked like they were going to get.

Jim put the blanket in the washing machine. Checking the clock, he holstered his .38 and reached for his jacket. Jim grinned when he heard Liddy exit the elevator. _You could set your watch by that girl,_ he thought approvingly. He waited for her to knock, then opened the door. Liddy smiled. "Hi, Jim," she said softly, noting Blair sleeping on the couch.

"Hey Liddy, come on in," Jim answered. He lifted an eyebrow at the oversized bag she had with her. "Going away this weekend?" he asked.

Liddy's smile grew as she shook her head. "I've got a date tonight with Stan Pierce. He's picking me up here. That's okay, right?"

"Stan Pierce?" Jim echoed. " _Officer_ Stan Pierce?"

A slight flush now accompanied Liddy's smile. "Blair introduced us."

Jim laughed and shook his head. "I should have known."

Jim went over to the couch and caressed Blair's soft cheek with the back of his hand until the younger man came muzzily awake. He blinked a few times, struggling to get his bearings. "Mmm, hey," he said, focusing on Jim through heavy-lidded eyes. "You coming or going?"

"Going," Jim said. "Liddy's here, Sweetheart. You need anything before I leave?"

Blair nodded, making room for Jim on the couch. Jim sat down and carefully took Blair in his arms.

"Mmm, yeah," Blair sighed, his body soft and pliant against Jim's. "You're warm," he said dreamily.

Jim chuckled. "I used to think you were after me for my body," Jim teased in a whisper. "Now I realize it's just my body _heat._ "

"Mm hmm," Blair said. He shook his head when Jim started to lay him back down. "Be careful today," Blair whispered.

"I will," said Jim.

"No stupid chances, right?"

"No smart chances, even," Jim said.

Blair nodded his agreement and loosened his hold enough to tell Jim it was okay to release him. Jim smoothed the blankets and kissed Blair's forehead. He started to tell the kid to go back to sleep, but he already was. "Love you," Jim said anyway.

_The serum will only give us a remission, it isn't a cure._

* * *

Liddy paged Jim while he was at lunch. He excused himself from the table to call her. "Hi Jim," she said calmly. "Blair's temperature spiked a little bit ago. I've called Dr. McVey, and we're heading over to the hospital."

Jim clutched the phone tightly. "Is Blair okay? Is he...okay?"

"It's just a precaution," Liddy said. "His temp shot up to 104, and Dr. McVey wants us to check it out."

Jim could hear Blair's labored breathing as he mumbled incoherently in the background. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the pay phone. "Thanks, Liddy," he said. "I'll see you in a few."

In the car, Jim inexplicably thought of Miguel Arroyo. This must have been how he spent the last 20 years of his life. In and out of hospitals, one infection after another; one heartache after another, every joy tinged with the knowledge that it might be his last. 

One of the things Blair's alternative healers stressed was quality of life. At the beginning, Jim thought that was like admitting defeat from the outset, like saying you were too weak, too timid to do what had to be done to beat the cancer. The longer they lived with the cancer, though, the more Jim realized it wasn't really living at all. Could they survive 20 years of this? That wasn't really the question, Jim reflected as he waited impatiently at a stop light. He could take care of Blair forever. He would gladly spend the next 40 years carrying Blair from room to room if it meant his lover would be with him.

_Please be okay, Baby. Please get well. Don't make me think about this, don't make me think about choices, don't make me think about a life without you. Please get better, please, please, please..._

Once at the hospital, Jim accomplished his tasks like they were second nature--met with the admitting physician, made an appointment to speak with McVey, called Naomi, Simon, and the university. In no time, he was sitting in Blair's room, reading a magazine and waiting for the kid to wake up.

Blair stirred and opened his eyes. "Sorry," he whispered sadly when he realized where he was.

"Not your fault," Jim said, making room for himself on the bed.

"What's wrong?"

"Bladder infection," Jim answered. "They started the antibiotics, and a platelet transfusion. You're okay."

"You call Naomi?"

Jim nodded. "She'll be here tonight."

"Liddy make her date?"

Jim chuckled and nodded again. "Stan Pierce?" he said.

Blair shrugged. "Hey man, like people are always saying to me, there's no accounting for taste."

Jim smirked down at his lover. "People always sayin' that to you, are they?"

"Constantly," Blair said, eyes laughing. "Any idea when I can go home?"

"I'm meeting with McVey in another hour," Jim said with a shrug. "Guess I'll get the lowdown them."

" _You're_ meeting with him," Blair repeated. "As in, Blair's daddy has a consult with the doctor because Blair can't understand all the big words, or what?"

"Give me a break," Jim said easily. "You weren't exactly with it when you and Liddy got here."

"Well, I'm with it now, Big Guy. Ask McVey to come here, okay?"

Jim didn't say anything. He smiled vaguely and touched Blair's hot cheek with his fingertips.

"Jim," said Blair, a definite warning in his tone.

"I know, I know," Jim said quickly, then lowered his voice. "Guardianship or no, I want to take care of you, Baby."

"You do," Blair said, slipping his hand into Jim's and squeezing it. "Just like I take care of you. The difference is I allow you the _illusion_ that you're taking care of yourself."

Jim grinned. "You're a far more subtle man than I am, huh, Chief?"

"You know it, Big Guy," Blair answered. 

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Things aren't progressing like McVey would like (no duh, man, what was your first clue), and they want to go ahead with a bone marrow transplant. But we already know that Naomi's not a match, and there's not much point without a family member to donate. I could see the wheels spinning in Jim's head. I swear, there's a part of me kind of worried about him talking Naomi into having another kid just in case they might be a match. 

I told McVey to add my name to the national registry. Not much to do until they locate a donor. No chemo for awhile, though, that's totally good news. Unless, of course, you were under the impression it was actually, like, curing the cancer or something.

Naomi won't like the idea of the transplant. It made her way uncomfortable the last time, but I don't think it has much to do with her distrust of the conventional medical profession, more with issues of paternity. At least that's my take.

Jim can't believe Naomi and I haven't discussed the subject of my father, but we really haven't. I pestered her about it when I was a kid, but I could tell, even then, that it hurt her just thinking about it. I've always been so attuned to Naomi's moods, even when I was little, and when I realized that talking about it, asking about it hurt her, it was pretty much a no-brainer deciding not to talk about it anymore.

I used to worry that maybe the guy was some total ogre or something, someone who made that fucker Charles look like Mr. Rogers, and maybe that's why Naomi didn't want to talk about it. 

It's not like it was that big a deal for me. I mean, I don't know, I don't feel like I missed out on all that much. Hell, Jim's more than happy to provide me with all kinds of paternal offerings if I don't guard against it. (Nice smirk, Big Guy. Don't even _act_ like that's not true).

* * *

As Blair predicted, Naomi did not take the news well. She viewed the decision to proceed with the transplant as an admission of defeat and was livid with Jim for coercing Blair into accepting it. 

In front of Blair, she was entirely supportive, as doting and solicitous as ever. But when she got Jim alone back at the loft, she lit into the detective. "Where in the hell you get off making these kind of decisions for _my_ son, I will never know, but if you think for one minute that I'm just going to step aside and let you run roughshod over him, you have got another thing coming, _Detective_!"

"We're going ahead with the transplant, Naomi," Jim said tiredly.

"You're giving up! My _GOD_ when I think of my beautiful, free spirited son, chained to some fascist, authoritarian..."

"Jesus, Naomi, _you're_ the one with the knee-jerk reaction to me as a cop. Blair and I made these decisions together. Do you honestly think I could railroad him into a treatment he doesn't believe in? If nothing else you've got to have more respect for Blair than that!"

"Don't even try that on me," Naomi said dismissively. "He worships you, Jim. Don't act like I'm too _dense_ to see that. He jumps out of planes, takes on trained assassins and international car thieves. Don't you sit there and tell me he wouldn't do something like this simply because you told him to."

"I don't _tell_ him!" Jim said angrily. "It's not like that! Jesus, you know we've tried it all, Naomi! Meditation, guided imagery, macrobiotics, herbal remedies, acupuncture, aromatherapy, massage therapy, everything right down to 'cleansing' enemas! We've tried _everything,_ and none of it's worked!"

"But don't you see? Chemotherapy and radiation have been diluting any positive effects you might be getting by the alternative therapies!"

"Who's being narrow-minded now? How can you summarily dismiss conventional medicine, which has as good if not better cure rates than your alternative therapies! We've been through this a hundred times already!"

"And we can go through it a hundred more as far as I'm concerned! Blair is all I have! All I will _ever_ have!"

The inference was unmistakable. Naomi had one son, but Jim had other lovers. Would have other lovers. Jim recoiled as if he'd been struck. "That's not fair," he said in a hollow voice.

Naomi looked almost as shocked as Jim by what she'd said. Her face softened then, and she moved forward and gently cupped Jim's clenched jaw with her hand. "No, Jim, that wasn't," she said sadly. "I'm sorry."

Jim reached up for the hand and gently squeezed it. "This is a pointless discussion, honey," he said. "The decision has been made."

"No it hasn't, Jim. It _hasn't._ "

Jim dropped the hand he held, eyes suddenly cold. "I have a piece of paper with our signatures that says it has," Jim answered cruelly.

Naomi's eyes narrowed. "You have _nothing,_ " she said. "Don't you fight me for him, Jim Ellison," she warned. "Don't you see? We'll both lose if that happens!"

"The only fighting I'm doing is for Blair!" Jim said. "For Blair's life! Good God, Naomi, if chanting in the forest could help him, don't you think I'd do it?! He needs this transplant. It's the only thing that can save him! How can you deny him this chance?"

"How dare you!" cried Naomi, hands balled into fists. "You've known him for two years, Jim, two years! I accept that you love him; I accept that you love him the way few people are loved in this world. I've told you before I will _always_ love you for that! But don't you dare, don't you _dare_ presume to tell me what's right for my son."

"Don't you understand? I know, Naomi! I know what's right for him!" Jim insisted. "Because what's right for Blair is right for me! Shit, I know that sounds like dime-store novel crap, Naomi, but it's true."

Naomi's watery eyes finally spilled tears down her cheeks. "I won't help you," she whispered, once again looking shocked at the words she uttered. "You're going to kill him, and I won't help you do it!"

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal: 

Naomi looks totally wiped, like she doesn't even know what's hit her. I keep trying to tell her that everything's going to be okay, but that just seems to upset her more. She's really hovering lately; total non-Naomi behavior. 

And Jim's all of a sudden gone into Possessive Overdrive, so they're having these bizarre little turf wars over me. Jim gets all bent out of shape 'cause he thinks Naomi doesn't do the caregiver thing "right." Hell, I'm just going to barf up whatever it is they're feeding me anyway, what do I care how they shovel it in? They've taken to visiting me in shifts--Naomi gets the days and Jim the evenings.

So I'm off chemo, and unless they find a compatible bone marrow donor things are not exactly looking up.

I thought that as the possibility of dying grew nearer, maybe some kind of Zen sort of acceptance would come with it. Hey, I know the seven stages of death as well as the next Anthro major, right? But I'm so not there. I am so, so nowhere near there.

I've been thinking about that serum a lot. The thing of it is, I'm starting to wonder...starting to worry that if things get much worse, maybe I'll ask for it. All it would take is one, delirious request, and I know the big guy would leap at the chance. Could I live with myself? I can hear Jim's excuses echoing in my brain--these people are already dead, nothing can bring them back, shouldn't someone benefit from their deaths... The serum just offers remission. 

But time is better than no time. Isn't it?

Kind of a huge let down to think that my convictions, my integrity, exist only so long as I don't actually need them. 

Maybe that's not an entirely fair assessment. I mean, Jim is one of the most honorable, incorruptible men I've ever known, but he had absolutely no moral dilemma with stealing the serum. Oh, I guess 'absolutely no' is a bit of an exaggeration, but not much. He really didn't see anything wrong with it, and he's a pretty good moral compass as far as I'm concerned.

God, I need to sleep. I want to sleep but can't. It's totally psychosomatic, I know that. Guess I feel like with time running out, I don't want to waste what I have left sleeping, maybe a little afraid that if I go to sleep, I won't wake up... I'm just so fucking tired.

* * *

When Jim arrived at the hospital to relieve Naomi, Blair was dry heaving into a bedpan and growing increasingly upset. His temperature was over 105, and when he started having trouble breathing, he panicked. 

"I need to sit!" he groaned, struggling to get out of bed. "Help me sit! Help me sit! Gotta get up. I'll be late, I'm late!"

"Sweetie, you need to lie down," Naomi said, her voice shaking, her expressive eyes haunted. This must have been going on for awhile.

"I need to find...to find the article...wrote it last month...last month for one of the reviews. I was publishing too much, some of them were mad...jealous maybe, but now it's not as much..."

Jim stepped to the other side of the bed and placed his large hand on Blair's forehead. "It's all taken care of," he said in his soft, deep voice.

"Taken care of..." Blair echoed, looking worried.

"Don't you remember?" Jim coaxed, smiling calmly at the younger man. "I typed it for you, and you made fun of me because I kept misspelling all those million dollar words you use."

Blair's eyes brightened for a minute. "I before e, except after c," he said softly.

"Like there were any vowels in most of those words," Jim scoffed.

Blair gave a shaky smile as tears welled in his eyes. "I think I have to get up," he said, eyes pleading with Jim to help.

Jim slowly shook his head, never breaking eye contact. "No, Sweetheart. You need to stay still. Relax."

"I feel funny."

"I know, Baby. You're sick right now. You lie back down and let us take care of you."

Blair lay back down for a minute, then struggled upright again. "I gotta...I gotta get up, it'll be better if I just...if I just get up."

Jim leaned over to hold Blair down, just as the younger man jerked his head up and connected with Jim's shoulder. Blood started pouring from Blair's nose.

"Shit!" Jim muttered, the need to calm Blair down now more pressing. "Blair, you've got a nosebleed," he said, speaking slowly, clearly. "We've got to stop the bleeding, you understand? Calm down and let us work here."

Naomi punched the call button on the bed and grasped Blair's shoulders. "Blair, be still!" she said sternly. "You listen to me, young man, and be still!"

Blair continued to vainly struggle, oblivious to the blood coursing down his front. He started choking, the blood making a gurgling sound in his throat.

"Christ, oh Christ!" Jim said, panicked now.

Several nurses burst on to the scene, terrifying Blair who was alternately screaming and choking.

Jim backed away from the bed, vaguely aware that he looked like Carrie after the prom. He held his hands away from his body and stood, transfixed as the doctors and nurses took control of the situation. When Blair started coughing up the blood he'd swallowed, he was helped on to his side until the sickness passed. 

"I'm sorry," Blair moaned, starting to cry. "I'm sorry."

Naomi pushed through the medical personnel. "It's okay, Blair," she soothed, taking over responsibility for wiping his face. "Everything's okay. You need to stay calm, honey. Can you do that for Mom? Can you be real still for me?"

"I'm all dirty, Mom," Blair whined pitifully, pushing at the bloody sheet on top of him. "Messy."

"I'll help you clean up," Naomi soothed. 

"Where's Jim? Jim's supposed to be here! Where's Jim?"

"Right here," Jim said, forcing himself closer to the bed, the bright red of Blair's blood stinging his eyes. "I'm right here." He slipped his hand into Blair's.

"I think...I think something's wrong," Blair said, dropping his voice to a whisper, as if trying to keep the information from his mother. "Jim, I think...I think something's wrong."

"Your temperature's really high," Jim said. "That's all it is. They're gonna give you a transfusion and get your temp down. You'll feel better soon."

Blair worriedly shook his head. "Something's wrong," he insisted. "Something's happening...in...inside me, something's happening."

"No, Baby," Jim said, his voice suddenly strangled. "You're okay, I promise."

Blair wrapped one wiry hand around Jim's shirt and drew the man closer so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. "I'll do anything," he whispered, his unfocused eyes searching Jim's face, trying to assure himself that he was understood. "Anything, Jim. Tell the doctors to do anything, try anything. I don't care what. I don't care. Tell 'em to do anything. I'm not ready, 'kay? Tell 'em to do anything!"

Unmindful of setting off another nosebleed, Jim yanked Blair into a fierce embrace. "You're not leaving me!" he whispered. "You're not dying on me, do you understand! You're not leaving me!"

Jim's sudden move had startled the nurses, who immediately tried to get him to release the younger man. "Leave us alone!" Jim barked. He held Blair for a few more minutes before gently setting him down and letting the nurses clear the sheets. "You're okay, Baby," he said softly.

Tears swam in Blair's eyes. "I'll do anything they say," he said wearily. "Anything you think will work. I'll do anything."

It took three nurses, not to mention Naomi's persistent insistence to convince Jim that he had to go home to shower and change.

It was Naomi who gently ushered Jim toward the door, making fussing noises about him eating dinner and taking better care of himself. Her voice was trembling several octaves above her normal speaking voice, and even through his own haze, Jim could hear the barely constrained hysteria there.

Jim was standing at the elevator when he heard Blair's cry. A scream really that set the hairs at his neck on end. "Jim! Jiiiiiiim!"

"Oh shit!" Jim muttered. "I'll be right back," he said to Naomi and sprinted back in the room, bursting through the door

"Jim! Jim!" Blair moaned, struggling to calm his breathing when Jim wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm right here, Baby. I'm right here," Jim said.

"Not the serum," Blair whispered in his ear. "I didn't mean that, okay? I didn't mean that. Don't make me have that in me, 'kay? I meant...I meant other stuff, 'kay? Not dead people. I don't want dead people in me. Don't make me have that, 'kay? You promised, remember? Remember it was a promise."

"Calm down, Sweetheart," Jim soothed, numbness creeping from in his heart, outward to his limbs. "There's no serum. I won't do that, I promise."

"Anything, but that," Blair whispered. "I'll do anything, but not that."

Jim swore he could actually here the sound of a twig snapping, of something giving way deep inside him. 

Later, he wouldn't even remember leaving Naomi in the parking lot--she was going somewhere, seeing someone; he didn't remember promising her that he would eat, or driving aimlessly around Cascade until the gas tank was very nearly empty. 

He was sweating profusely--it kept dripping into his eyes, and it stung.

"Anything, anything, anything, anything..." he muttered the word under his breath, rocking in the driver's seat.

Twice he swerved into oncoming traffic, the bleating of car horns alerting him to the danger. For the safety of the citizens of Cascade more than his own, Jim concentrated long enough to get himself home.

There were no messages for him on the answering machine. The red light was not blinking, and every time he pressed the Play Messages button, he was informed "There are no new messages." He hit the button over and over again, in between picking up the phone to make sure there was a dial tone.

"Anything, anything, anything, anything..." he mumbled, pacing around in the small kitchen. 

How could he help Blair, if he wasn't allowed to use the serum? It was all he had left to offer his lover. His beautiful, brilliant, young, Christ, so very very young lover.

Could he promise the kid, in the heat of panicked desperation, that he wouldn't use the serum and then turn around and use it? Was it really such an awful thing? He answered those questions for himself prior to stealing it, hadn't he? Why the dilemma now? It would take him eight minutes to get back to the hospital if he ran the siren, the traffic being minimal this time of night.

Blair didn't know what he wanted. Didn't know what he was asking. It was up to Jim to determine what was best for him right now, and the way things were going, the serum was the best thing. He'd waited until all their other options had vanished. It wasn't like they hadn't tried; wasn't like they were taking the easy way out. Blair didn't understand; he didn't know how high the stakes were anymore. It was Jim's responsibility to take care of him. It was Jim's decision to make.

Fascist authoritarian...

The words echoed in Jim's mind. 

No, that wasn't right. It was different this time. He and Blair made their decisions together. But Blair didn't understand anymore. 

_I don't tell him._

Jim was responsible. He was _officially_ responsible for Blair. The hospital recognized it, the governments of the city of Cascade and the state of Washington and the United States of America, all recognized it. Jim was responsible for Blair. These decisions were his to make.

_It'll be different this time. I'll be different. I'll help you..._

The serum wasn't a cure; it only guaranteed more time. Two years. Maybe three. Years. Time. 

He was responsible. 

Blair didn't want to die. He said he'd do anything. He said try anything, anything they thought might work. He said anything.

Except the serum. He said anything except the serum. He said he didn't want the dead people in him, but they were already dead. They could help him. The dead people could help him, but he didn't want that. He wanted anything but that. Anything.

With a cry of anguish, Jim fell to his knees on the hard kitchen floor and retrieved the vial from its hiding place.

Blair said he'd try anything.

Jim was responsible for what happened to him. It was his responsibility.

Anything, anything, anything, anything...

Jim stared at the vial in his hands. If he used it, if he gave it to Blair, what would the kid do? What _could_ he do?

The last time Blair was sick, after he found out that Jim had stolen the serum, he told Jim he'd kill himself if Jim tried to make him take the serum. Jim didn't think that threat held much water now-- it had been made in the heat of a terrible anger. Of course the kid would feel betrayed, but what would he do about it, that was what mattered here. What would he do?

Jim turned the serum over again and again, the amber liquid almost glowing in the dim light from the refrigerator.

Blair would leave him, but permanently? Jim couldn't even imagine it, but that was a fairly good guess.

The detective took a deep breath and nodded at the growing certainty. Yeah, the kid would bolt. 

_Okay, Ellison, now begs the question, is it enough to know that Blair is somewhere in the world, healthy and alive? Is your heart big enough for that, Ellison? Are you strong enough for that? Can you live knowing that Sandburg is out there, somewhere, without you?_

_Dying is the only way he'll ever leave me._

Time. 

Time that Blair would spend somewhere else. Without him.

But alive.

_His soul is mine. In this world, he's mine, and he will **never** be rid of me._

Anything, anything, anything, anything...

_Are you strong enough, Ellison? To heal him, but let him go?_

_He'll leave you. You know he will. Can you let him go?_

_Can you?_

Jim stared at the vial another split second, and then, his movements stiff and mechanical, he stood up on shaking knees, tore open the pouch and emptied the vial down the sink. 

He ran the water and stared at the spray until each individual molecule slowly become visible. He could have zoned permanently right then, but his knees suddenly buckled and with a gasp of surprise, Jim sank to the floor and narrowly missed clipping his chin on the edge of the countertop.

He sat there on the floor, panting and shuddering, eyes closed. _Oh God, what have I done?!_ He inwardly screamed at himself, then a low, desperate keening started in the back of his throat and became a fully voiced wail, "I've killed him! Oh God, I killed him! Blair! Oh God, oh God, BLAIR! BLAIR!"

With a gasp, Jim drew himself to a standing position and tore up the stairs. He ripped the comforter off the bed and tossed the pillows to the floor. He sat down heavily, snatching his .38 to his chest like he was a child with his most treasured toy. He fingered the weapon lovingly, incongruously drawing warmth from the cool metal. _Okay, okay, okay..._ the word echoed insistently in his mind, and he rocked back in forth in time, oblivious to the tears and mucus and sweat streaming down his face. He reached for the phone and hit redial and drew in another shuddering gasp.

_Please be awake, Baby. Please, please, please..._

Blair's voice was weak but blessedly, blessedly reached him across the wires. "'Lo?"

It took several seconds before Jim found his voice. "Hi."

"Hey!" Blair said sounding as if he was pleasantly surprised to hear from an old friend he hadn't talked to in years.

"I, uh, just needed to hear your voice one more time before I could go to sleep," Jim explained weakly.

"Mmm, is it nighttime?" Blair asked, his voice light and airy.

Jim winced. "Yeah, Baby, it's nighttime," he whispered, his own voice rough.

"Wish I was home," Blair sighed. "Warm...bed with you."

"You go to sleep," Jim said. "I love you, Blair." 

_Please say it back. I really need to hear you say it back._

"Love you too," Blair whispered before the phone was clumsily put back in its cradle.

Jim sighed and hung the phone up and only then realized his other hand was still curled around the .38.

He did not sleep that night. He sat on the floor and glared at the phone, stroking his revolver, as if threatening the inanimate object, daring it to ring and deliver the death sentence he had just passed on the only person he would ever love.

* * *

Jim couldn't look Naomi in the eye the next morning. He had effectively killed Blair the night before. If she had trouble accepting his decisions before...

The silence was uncomfortable, producing a buzzing sound in his ears. He struggled to word his apology, to explain to her that in killing Blair, he had killed himself as well, so there was really no point in being angry. 

"He was an amazingly healthy child," Naomi said finally, breaking the silence with her sudden, disjointed statement. "Never caught colds or had any of the usual childhood illnesses. You know, he didn't even get chicken pox until he was a sophomore in college? Too active to get sick, that's what my brother used to say. No virus could catch up with him."

Jim smiled half-heartedly. "That sounds like Blair," he said.

Naomi smiled back, but the smile quickly faltered. "I go...back and forth between wondering what I did wrong when he was little and wondering if I'm being punished."

"You're not being punished!" Jim said, but knew exactly, _exactly_ what Naomi was feeling. How could so much misery, so much pain and anguish _not_ be personal? No deity could be _that_ arbitrary, could they?

"I've done terrible things," Naomi said quietly. "Out of selfishness and spite. Taken things from Blair that could have rightfully been his."

"I...I don't understand," Jim said, shrugging helplessly, hardly able to stir himself to make the conversation. But then he thought of Blair, and he knew the younger man would want him to protect his mother, would _expect_ it of him. Jim took a deep breath and focused on the moment. "Look, you and I might not always agree on things, we've got pretty different outlooks on life, but I know you were a good mother to Blair. You _are_ a good mother to him. Blair is...he's the finest person I know, Naomi. So much of that is thanks to you."

"Or in spite of me," Naomi said softly. Her luminous eyes bore right through Jim's chest. "He's going to die, isn't he Jim? Without this bone marrow transplant, Blair's going to die."

Jim felt a glimmer of warmth in his chest. That couldn't be _hope,_ could it? 

He struggled to remain calm. "I...I think he will," he said hoarsely. 

Naomi sighed and fiddled with her orange juice glass, then she squared her shoulders and began to speak. "I left home the minute I turned 18. A friend and I went to New York to be actresses on Broadway." She cast Jim a wry look to show she knew it was a silly idea. "I met a record producer who offered me a job as his housekeeper. I suppose I should have suspected something from the start--he and his wife lived in a beautiful home in the Hamptons. No children. Not much for me to do really. But it was fun and exciting, and the money was good. They were very generous with me. Very kind. It wasn't long until the man and I were sleeping together. He said he and his wife were very good friends, but that intimacy was not part of their arrangement..." Naomi shrugged, her face once again conveying the simplicity of her faith.

"I was young and naive, and I believed every word he said to me. When I became pregnant, I thought he would leave her, and we would get married and become the family I always wanted to have." She smiled sadly. "Not quite the free-wheeling hippie, was I? Of course, that didn't happen. He made it quite clear that he would never divorce his wife and was kind enough to point out that an unmarried 18 year-old girl had _nothing_ to offer a child. He explained that he and his wife would be adopting my child and there wasn't anything I could do about it...This turned out to be true. I gave birth to a son, and he was promptly adopted. They were kind enough--or cruel enough, I'm still not sure which--to let me continue working for them, which I did for almost two years. I stayed in that house as their hired help and watched them raise my child as their own." There were no tears, but even now, almost 30 years later, Jim felt her anger, sensed it in the sudden rise in temperature.

"They were good parents. I think that's the only thing that saved me from doing something rash. They were very loving to the child. Treated him like gold. And he was bright and funny and so beautiful. But he could never be mine. It was too awful for me to stay. To watch my child grow up and know he would never know the truth, never know that I really did love him and want him. I decided I had to leave, but I was still young. And bitter, I suppose. I was determined that I wouldn't leave empty-handed. They had taken something from me, so I would take something from them. I seduced the man, let him believe he was seducing me. I waited until I was sure I was pregnant and then I left. I should have left New York, but there was nowhere else for me to go. I had friends there, who let me stay with them. Who looked out for me. That would have been the end of it I suppose, except I used the same ob/gyn I'd used when I was pregnant before. Somehow, wires got crossed and a bill that should have come to me went to...them. I knew they would want this child as well. Would feel that they were... _entitled_ to him. Knew they would try to take him from me. And in an odd way, I also knew that if I saw them, if I heard their arguments, I'd believe them. So I took off. To New Mexico. Where Blair was born."

Jim's heart was thundering out of control. He knew there were some sort of words of comfort he should be muttering for Naomi's sake, but it was all he could do not to let loose with a joyful scream of elation. Blair had a brother! An honest-to-goodness, blood- sharing, marrow-matching whole brother. He was going to be all right! All they had to do was find the brother and everything would be fine! Blair would be fine!

Jim didn't know he was crying until he was kneeling in front of Naomi, fiercely gripping both of her hands in his, bowing over them and whispering, "Thank you, oh God, thank you, Naomi. Thank you, thank you, oh God, thank you..."

Continued in part six.


	6. Chapter 6

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Continued from part five. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part six 

The last word anyone would have used to describe Detective Ellison that next day was stoic. The detective was on cloud nine as he sauntered into the hospital to visit with Blair. 

The younger man had eventually settled down and had a fairly restful night. His fever was down and he was sleeping comfortably. Ryf and Brown had stopped by before work, so Jim and Naomi visited with them in the lobby.

Keeping an ear turned to Blair's room, Jim was oblivious to the odd stares of his companions when he suddenly jumped up and made a beeline for Blair's room.

Blair was sprawled on the floor, the breath knocked from him.

"Whoa there, buddy, what were you thinking?" Jim asked, grimacing at the blood on Blair's arm where the IV had torn lose.

Blair looked stunned to find himself on the floor. "I, uh... bathroom," he stammered, eyes wide with surprise. "I fell."

Jim chuckled briefly at the unnecessary explanation. "Yeah, Kiddo, I got that much on my own."

"I fell," Blair repeated, sounding amazed that such a thing could happen. "I...I got up to go to the bathroom, and I fell down."

"I know. Come on, let's get you back in the bed. Have the nurse take a look at your arm."

"No," Blair said vaguely. "No, I'd better stay here for a little while."

Jim frowned at the kid. "You bump your head?" he asked, feeling for a lump. Jim scooped one arm under Blair's legs, but when he started to lift him up, Blair cried out in rage and began flailing his arms.

"Stop it! God damn it, I said stop it!" Blair shouted. "Get the fuck off me! Get off me!"

Jim set Blair back on the floor and inched away. "Blair, what's wrong?" he asked, half annoyed, half worried.

Blair looked around him, as if suddenly finding himself some place strange, some place he didn't recognize. "I fell down," he whispered, raising suddenly frightened eyes to Jim's.

The detective felt his heart constrict, and he wanted to tell the kid it was almost over, they were almost at the end of this very long, very dark tunnel, but he'd agreed with Naomi that Blair wasn't ready to hear about his brother. Jim planned to fly to New Mexico to speak to the man in person. After he agreed to be tested, after the marrow was found to match, when Blair was stronger, then he could be told.

Now Blair made a sound of fear and he lunged into Jim's arms, holding on to the detective with all the ferocity of a child lost and found.

"You're okay," Jim soothed, lifting the shuddering man and gently settling him back in bed. "Come on, Sweetheart, you're okay."

It was several long minutes before Blair stopped shaking. Keeping a death grip on Jim's arm, he laid exhaustedly back on his pillows.

Jim smiled down at him, the joy with which he greeted that morning returning in a rush of warmth. "You're okay," Jim said softly.

Blair gave a tremulous sigh, his free hand coming up to pass over his forehead. "Damn it all, Jim, I still have to take a piss!" he said, and they both started laughing as Jim helped the kid up, and they made their way to the bathroom.

* * *

Jim gave Simon only a bare-boned explanation when he requested the two days off from work. Jim figured that if it didn't pan out--if the guy wasn't a match or if he refused to help--he could just tell the captain it was a wild goose chase and leave it at that. If it did work, which Jim knew it would, then he would see how Naomi wanted to handle it. Jim doubted that Simon would blindly accept some anonymous miracle donor, and wouldn't put it past Simon to do a little digging on his own.

It was Simon who had been trying to track down information about Blair's paternity after Naomi had refused to help in any way. Encountering dead-end after dead-end, the man had developed a perverse sort of respect for Naomi's thoroughness in covering up the identify of Blair's father.

Simon knew when to ask questions and when not to, and he accepted Jim's words at face value, but the seriousness of his eyes when he said, "Good luck," told Jim he knew the stakes they were riding were high.

Telling Blair was actually harder. He had clung to Jim all day, even begrudging him trips to the bathroom if Naomi wasn't there to hold his hand in Jim's absence. When Jim told him he had to leave for a few days, Blair looked at him like he just announced a new career as a daredevil or something equally dangerous.

"No," Blair whispered, big blue eyes made larger by the unshed tears glistening from them. He wrapped his fingers around Jim's sleeve. "You stay with me!" he reminded the detective. "You stay!"

"It's just a few days, Sweetheart," Jim soothed. "Just a few days. I'll be back before you know it."

"No!" Blair said. "You stay! You stay!"

"Naomi's going to be here with you," Jim said. "She's not going to leave, honey. She'll be right here with you, and then, in two or three days..."

"Both! You both stay!"

"Come on now, Blair," Naomi soothed, "You and I made it on our own for how many years?" She leaned in close and nuzzled his nose. "I think we can survive a couple of days together, don't you?"

"But I want...I want Jim too. I want you both."

"I know, Sweetie," Naomi said, her voice lyrical and soft even as she forcefully pried Blair's fingers from Jim's shirt. Blair cried out and tried to make another grab at the fabric, but once released, Jim quickly stepped out of range. "You're going to hurt my feelings," Naomi said, feigning a pout that rivaled Blair at his most potent. 

_Must be something in the Sandburg blood,_ Jim thought, amused to see how quickly the look brought Blair to heel. _Welcome to my world,_ he thought.

"I don't want to hurt your feelings, Mom," Blair said, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Then you tell Jim you'll see him soon, and help me stumble through this Behavioral Mumbo Jumbo magazine you like so much."

Blair blushed when he met Jim's eyes. "I'll see you soon," he said sheepishly, grasping Naomi's shirt-sleeve as he spoke.

Jim smiled. "See you," he said softly. Then he looked up at Naomi and winked. "And when I get back, you're going to teach me how to do that!" he said, nodding at the subdued Blair.

Naomi smiled back and patted Blair's hand. "Sorry, Jim," she said lightly. "Ancient family secret."

Jim left then, jogging to his truck, so intent on making his flight that the irony of Naomi's words went completely over his head.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I fell going to the bathroom yesterday. I got out of bed, and, like, my legs just couldn't support me. It was the freakiest thing, man.

Jim heard me and naturally rushed in to pick me up and brush me off. For a second, just for one second, I hated him. I hated him because he'd never be so weak and stupid as to get sick like this. I hated him for being strong and healthy and perfect. And then I hated me for feeling that way, and I spent the rest of the day hanging on to Jim for dear life.

He had to go away for a few days. Some case or something, though not even Ryf or Brown seemed to know what it was about. Maybe Jim told me, and I forgot. I forget a lot of things lately. I used to know stuff, used to remember things. Used to constantly strive to learn more, to know more. Now I can't even follow a half- hour sitcom from start to finish.

I wish I was home. I wish Jim and I were packing for a camping trip and joking about what happened at work today. I wish everything was back to normal, and we were complaining about how busy we were and how we never get to spend as much time together as we want to and how it'll be different once I have the doctorate.

I wish I was healthy, and I had hair, and I could stay awake all day long, and I weighed enough so every time someone saw me they didn't look like they were about to cry.

I wish I could think about tomorrow and next month and next year. Wish I could imagine our fifth anniversary and our tenth and our twentieth. Wish I could imagine my graduation and Jim's next promotion. I wish... 

I wish Jim was here.

* * *

Jim sat in the rental car, his heart thundering in his ears as he watched Jefferson William Warrington III saunter into a dilapidated schoolhouse. He walked like Blair. Exactly like Blair. Same rhythm, same kinetic energy swaying his shoulders from side to side. If he'd had long hair it would have been swishing from shoulder to shoulder. It excited Jim, as if it was definitive proof the marrow would match. Jefferson was three or four inches taller than Blair, with dark, close-cropped hair that was probably curly if allowed to grow out. He had brown eyes. For some silly reason that made Jim feel slightly superior, as if he had landed the more attractive brother. Jefferson Warrington was handsome in a conventional sense; not beautiful and exotic like his Blair.

It had taken Jim a mere 12 hours to locate the man. He'd impressed the hell out of Naomi, but had to admit that finding someone who wasn't trying to hide was pretty effortless. Jim told Naomi that the man's mother--Naomi had flinched at that word, and Jim stumbled back and rephrased it as his _adopted_ mother-- and father were still living in New York, and their son, Jefferson Warrington the third, was a Navajo Nation school teacher in New Mexico. Naomi hadn't cried, but those eyes of hers were luminous at the information, and she spent the rest of the evening meditating in Blair's old room.

Because Naomi asked him to, Jim had first flown to New York to speak to the parents. She didn't know if they had told Jefferson Warrington of his parentage, and she wanted them to know what was happening. The meeting had not started out very well. Jefferson Warrington, senior accused Jim of being a pawn in Naomi's blackmail scheme. Jim scoffed at the notion. "Sir, I'm not asking you for anything. I'm _telling_ you, out of a courtesy to Naomi Sandburg, what I'm going to do. What I'm going to ask your son to do."

"Naomi Sandburg, who _stole_ my younger son from me," Warrington haughtily pointed out.

Jim cast his cold eyes upon a photograph that was undoubtedly the Warringtons' son. "Sir, I don't think you want to be throwing stones about that. If I wanted to, I could become inordinately interested in the adoption of Naomi's older son. Who stole who from whom might get pretty muddy, wouldn't you agree?"

Mrs. Warrington ended the meeting by handing Jim a folded sheet of paper with her son's name and address on it. "I hope the young man is all right," she said sincerely, then nodded to a butler to show Jim the door.

* * *

Jim looked at his watch. It was a good hour and a half before classes were due to start, so he stepped out of the car and followed the strangely familiar man to his classroom. He stood outside the room for a moment, watching Jefferson hang up his coat and open the planner on his desk. Gruffly clearing his throat, Jim knocked on the door and walked in.

Jefferson looked up and smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Um, are you Jefferson Warrington?" Jim asked, unnecessarily. 

Jefferson nodded and offered his hand. "Call me Jeff. Are you new to the school district?" His confusion clearly indicated he thought this unlikely.

Jim released Jeff's hand and shook his head. "Uh, no. No. I'm Detective Jim Ellison. Cascade, Washington Police Department. I'm...working a missing person's case."

Jeff smiled again. "Ah, well then. I know you're not here on my behalf," he said ironically. "My family's not trying to find me so much as hoping I'll stay lost."

"Why?" asked Jim. "I'd think they'd be proud of the work you're doing here."

Jeff laughed without much humor behind it. "Ah, Detective Ellison. This kind of work is for the little people according to my family. No, my parents would prefer the only dirt under my nails come from the ink used to sign checks. Not very politically correct, I'm afraid."

"Lucky for these kids," Jim said. "Um, look, I'm going to need a few hours of your time. I was hoping I could talk to you this evening. It's really important."

Jeff cocked his head to the side and gave Jim a discerning look so reminiscent of Sandburg that Jim felt a swell of emotion in his chest. He didn't know what Jeff saw, but the man gave a brief nod, as if in reply to some inner conversation and made arrangements to meet Jim at a local restaurant in town.

Twice that afternoon, Jim almost turned tail and headed back home. What if the man refused? What would he do? What would he do if in a few hours time, Blair's death sentence was passed by this, this _stranger._ He couldn't very well hold the man down and forcibly remove his bone marrow.

Could he?

* * *

"I spoke to your parents this morning," Jim awkwardly began. They were sitting in a booth in a nearly deserted restaurant in town. They each ordered a beer and Jeff watched Jim nervously peeling the label off the front of his bottle. "I, uh, thought perhaps they might have gotten in touch with you..."

Jeff looked confused. "You talked to my parents?"

Jim nodded. "Your father...uh....well, this is kind of odd, I know, I mean, you don't know me from Adam, and I'm telling you this kind of shit, it probably sounds crazy..."

"Detective, you haven't told me _anything,_ " Jeff reminded him, a glint of humor in his brown eyes. "You know my parents?"

Jim shook his head. "There's no delicate way to phrase this," he mused aloud, "So I'm just gonna say it. You have a brother. Two years younger, by your father and your biological mother. He's sick, with lymphoma, and if he doesn't have a bone marrow transplant, he's going to die. I'm here to ask you if you'd agree to be tested to see if your bone marrow is a match, and if so, if you would agree to donate it."

"A brother?" Jeff echoed blankly. "I have a brother? Did my father know about this? I mean, all along? Did he know about this?"

"Yes. In fact, it's my understanding that he tried for some time to, uh, find Naomi and Blair, but eventually gave it up. They moved around a lot. I know this is a shock to you, and I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, but the kid is really sick. This is fourth and ten, you know? We've got no choice but to go for it here, you know?"

"Football metaphors," Jeff muttered under his breath. "So this Naomi hired you to find me so I'd help the kid she wanted to keep, is that it?"

Jim winced. "Naomi didn't want me to come," he admitted gruffly. "I think she's afraid your father, your family, will steal Blair away from her." He left it unsaid, but hoped the point was clear that she felt Jeff had already been stolen from her, that she had not left him by whim or by choice. It was not Jim's place to fix this Peyton Place drama. He just wanted the bone marrow, God dammit.

Jeff thought about that for a minute, looking so much like Blair that Jim's eyes suddenly filled with tears. He lowered his head and blinked rapidly. 

"So who hired you?" Jeff asked finally.

"No one," Jim said softly. "Blair is...um, he's my..." Jim had to clear his throat a couple of times. He shook his head and fiddled with his wedding band, twisting it nervously around his finger. "He's my lover." 

Jeff's eyebrows went up, then his eyes fell on Jim's ring and a disapproving look clouded his face. "What's your wife think of that?" the teacher asked dryly.

Jim smiled, relieved to discover the source of that disapproval. "Jeff, I'm married to Blair," he said quietly, but the pride in that statement was evident. "And most of the time, he's pretty damn happy about it, if I do say so myself."

Jeff slowly shook his head and took a long pull on his beer. "I have a brother, and he's married to a cop," he said to himself. "A _male_ cop. A male cop who wants my bone marrow for his _husband._ How was your day, Jeff? Anything exciting happen? Oh no, same old, same old with me..."

Jim smiled in understanding, snorting his amusement. "Yeah, Hallmark doesn't really make a card for this, huh? I know I'm asking you to digest a hell of a lot of information here, Jeff. You, uh, you probably want to think about this, maybe talk to your parents. I don't know what to tell you. Blair is...well, he's everything to me, and I'll tell you right now there's nothing I wouldn't do for him. But I wouldn't disrupt your life and the life of your family if we had another alternative."

"So where do I go to be tested?" Jeff asked, finishing his beer and motioning for another.

Jim's heart leapt in his chest. "Just like that?" he asked incredulously.

Jeff shrugged philosophically. "Detective, whatever happened between our parents, it was 25 years ago. I'm not going to punish ... Blair you said his name was? If I can help him, I want to help."

Jim closed his eyes. "Oh God, thank you," he breathed. "Thank you, oh man, thank you!" Excited, Jim stood up and grabbed Jeff's hand, enthusiastically shaking it as he spoke. "God! I had all these thoughts about having to drag you out of here and take the bone marrow..." Jeff's eyes bulged in startled surprise and Jim hastened to explain, "Not that I would! I wouldn't! I mean, I don't think I would! I'm just happy I don't have to find out! Not that I would do something like that, I really wouldn't, but I'm just glad you'll do it. Shit, I'm babbling aren't I? I get that from Blair, you know, I never babbled until he came around."

"What do I have to do, Detective?" Jeff asked, obviously amused.

"Call me, Jim!" the detective said, sitting back down. "Uh, it shouldn't...it shouldn't be too much. You can be tested at a local hospital, and, if it's a match, you can have the bone marrow extracted locally as well."

"I'd like to meet him, though. Blair." Jeff said the name softly, almost reverently. 

Jim winced. "He doesn't know about you yet," he explained. "He's too sick to understand right now."

"And what's one more lie, right?" Jeff said, tight-lipped. "We've been pawns this long, why should anything change now, right?" Jim winced again, and Jeff took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry," he said. "That part of it's certainly not your fault. Jesus, I can't believe my parents sometimes. It's like the whole world and the people in it are their toys to fuck with."

"This probably wasn't the best way for you to find out about this," Jim said, awarding himself honors for understatement-of-the-year. "I am sorry."

"So what's he like, this brother of mine?"

Jim grinned self-deprecatingly. "I can't offer a very objective description," he said. "He's...funny. Brilliant. Knows everything about everything, has a photographic memory or just about. He's studying for his doctorate in anthropology at Rainier University. He's a teaching fellow there. He always has a thousand ideas going at once, talks a mile a minute, could convince an Eskimo to blow his savings on a vacation in the Arctic..."

"They're called Inuit now," Jeff absently corrected.

Jim grinned suddenly. "I think you'd like him," he said wryly.

"I don't think I'm asking too much to meet him," Jeff said, intently eyeing Jim.

"No, you're not," Jim agreed. "Can I ask you to wait until he's stronger before we spring this on him? He has no idea what went on; I really think it would blow him away right now."

"How is he going to react to this?" Jeff asked.

"You know, I don't know," Jim answered thoughtfully. "He and his mom are really tight. Something like this, totally out of left field, I can't imagine what he's going to think, how he's going to feel."

Jeff took another swig of beer. "Shocked, is my guess, Detective," the teacher said wryly. "Shocked as hell."

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Jim's still gone. I can't remember how long it's been. I keep asking Mom when he's coming back. I think it bugs her that I don't remember.

I'm so tired, but I think I just woke up. My back hurts and my head. Everything seems fuzzy and unreal and I keep feeling scared of something. Jim should be here, but he's not. It's so hard to think. Everything's all jumbled inside my head.

Jim's going to remember me like this and be glad when I'm gone. He won't remember how it was before, how much we laughed, how fantastic the sex was, how much fun we had. He's only going to remember hospitals and sickness and cleaning up my disgusting messes.

I hate it, and I used to think that if all of this shit got too rough, I'd just check out. I truly believed I could. The weird thing is, the sicker I get, the more that is so not an option to me. I don't want to die. I don't want Death to win, and no way in hell do I want to make Death's job any easier. It wants me so bad, then it can drag me kicking and screaming from this life, 'cause I don't want to leave it. 

* * *

Jim drove straight to the hospital from the airport and tracked Naomi to the cafeteria. One look at Jim's victorious face was enough to clue her in. 

"He agreed to it?" Naomi asked tremulously. She sounded surprised and relieved all at once. "There was a part of me...some part of me that was terrified he would refuse. That I would have to live with myself knowing he was a man who would...who would refuse to help..."

"He's a _good_ man, Naomi," Jim said, unsure if Naomi wanted or needed to hear it. "I...I liked him. A lot. And Blair would like him too."

Naomi nodded, tears sparkling in those enormous eyes of hers. Jim gathered her in his arms and gingerly hugged her, understanding Blair's overwhelming desire to protect his vulnerable mother. "He's a match, Naomi," Jim whispered, and felt her knees nearly give way. He tightened his hold. "This is it, honey. Our 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. It's going to be okay, now. Everything's going to be okay."

"Go see him, Jim," Naomi said after she'd regained some composure. "He missed you. You'd think you've been gone two years."

Jim grinned and kissed Naomi's cheek before heading up to the kid's room.

When he walked in, Blair winced, as if the air from the opening door had caused him pain. But he smiled enormously at Jim and braced himself for contact with his lover. Jim came forward slowly and lowered himself to the bed. It was almost like they were staging some complicated acrobatic maneuver. 

Jim opened his arms and let Blair settle himself against his chest. They sighed in unison when Jim gently enclosed Blair in his embrace.

"Oh, that feels good," Jim whispered. "I missed you." Jim could tell from Blair's labored breathing that the younger man was in pain, but when he started to let go, Blair gave a startled cry and pushed himself further into the hold.

"Not yet," he whispered into Jim's ear. "Don't let me go...don't let go."

"Never," Jim promised. "I'll hold you forever, Baby, you know that."

They were quiet for a minute. Jim winced at the sweat he could feel building off of Blair, but resolutely kept hold of his lover. "Jim?" came his weak voice.

"Hm?"

The barest whisper, sounding like it took the very last of his energy. "Tell me about after."

Jim felt tears sting his eyes. He reflexively tightened his hold, then cursed in frustration as Blair's startled gasp of pain. "I'm sorry, Baby," he whispered, petting Blair's soft head. "I'm sorry. You're okay. Everything's okay, now."

"After," Blair whispered, as he struggled to regain his breath. "Tell me about after."

"After you're better," Jim began, his tone identical to a parent's 'once upon a time...'

"When you get your strength back, and your hair is long and beautiful, and there's no pain anywhere, you and I are going on a trip." He laid Blair back down, then leaned in close and kissed his forehead.

"Where?" Blair asked on cue.

"Somewhere far away," Jim said softly, his face close to Blair's. "Somewhere so green, I can only have my sight on full at night. Somewhere so lush and clean, I'll have to turn my smell down to at least half. Somewhere the sound of birds and wolves and crickets and bullfrogs is so deafening, I'll turn my hearing down so far, the only thing I'll hear is you whispering my name when I'm coming inside you."

"No people," Blair reminded.

Jim nodded. "Just me and my Baby," he agreed. "No doctors, no needles, no shots. No one but us and the trees and the wind and the sun and the stars and the moon..."

"Outside," Blair said.

"No hospitals," Jim said. "Fresh air, everywhere you turn. No walls, no roofs. Just us."

Blair looked sad. "After."

Jim nodded again. "After," he said, just as sad.

"You went away," Blair said accusingly, suddenly, as if he just remembered.

"I'm home now," Jim said. "And you need to concentrate on getting strong, you know why?"

"Hm mm."

Jim grinned fondly. "Because, we've found a bone marrow donor, Baby, that's why."

"Yeah? A match and everything?"

"A match and everything," confirmed Jim. "That's good news, huh?"

"Mm hm." Blair smiled and ran his hand up and down Jim's arm. "I like you here," he said sheepishly.

Jim winked and teased, "But I like you _anywhere,_ Chief. That's hardly fair." The joke didn't seem to register.

"Right here," Blair said. "I forget things and then I say, 'ask Jim,' 'cause you remember, right? You remember what I forget, right?"

Jim felt his ebullient mood waning. Jesus, what Blair might forget was more than Jim would ever know. But he smiled, and leaned down to nuzzle Blair's nose. "I remember, Chief," he whispered.

Blair sighed happily. "Good." His smile faltered then. "You remember, everything, right?" he asked, suddenly worried. "You remember all the before, and how it was funny and we laughed all the time, and we...we caught the bad guys and went to the ball games. You remember everything, all of it, you remember that, right?"

"I remember everything," Jim said. "Every minute of it, Blair."

"And you won't forget, not ever, right?"

"I won't forget." Jim kissed Blair again, barely brushing his lips against his soft cheek. "I won't forget, 'cause you'll be there to remind me."

* * *

Jim wanted them to do the bone marrow transplant right away, but McVey patiently explained--numerous times--that the process was so arduous, Blair needed to be in otherwise good health before they undertook the transplant.

They were still fighting the last vestiges of a tenacious bladder infection, but as soon as that cleared, they would perform the transplant.

Jim was convinced that the transplant would be their salvation, but worry began to gnaw at him as Blair's health improved, and they moved closer and closer to it. 

Preparing for the transplant was dangerous. All of Blair's diseased marrow would be destroyed by extremely high levels of chemotherapy. 

Following the transplant, Blair's immune system would be severely suppressed, virtually non-existent, until the new marrow began manufacturing blood cells. This, of course, assuming Blair's body didn't reject the transplant and develop graft versus host disease or suffer from some other complication. Nearly 25 percent of BMT recipients did not survive the transplant.

And then there was the other percentage. The other number Jim saw over and over again as Blair researched and studied the process. Only 20 percent of lymphoma patients were 'cured' by the transplant. "Someone makes up that 20 percent!" Jim furiously pointed out to his lover the first time he read it. "Why not you? For God's sake, why not you?" 

Blair had smiled sadly at Jim, petting his arm in typical there-there fashion. "We are due a little good luck, aren't we, Big Guy?" Blair had soothed, as if talking to a ten year old. And like a ten year old, Jim let himself believe.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Naomi and Jim are friends again. At least, they'll visit me at the same time anyway. I woke up this morning, and Mom was crying, and Jim was hugging her, so I pretended to be asleep until she was okay. 

Haven't written much for a few days. Not so much sick as just totally bummed. Ryf's getting married in September. It got all quiet in my room when he announced it. No one thinks I'll make it 'til then. 

I'm so tired, but can't sleep unless they give me something. I wake up feeling hung over and not at all rested. I'm so frustrated and mad all the time. 

As soon as I'm stronger, I'm having the bone marrow transplant. I guess they found a donor on the national registry. I asked Naomi if I'd get to meet the donor, and she totally himhawed around, and then I started thinking, jeez, maybe Jim did some search of the prison system or something and like, forcibly drew bone marrow from some prisoner who wasn't in a position to say no or something equally draconian. I mentioned it to Jim, only half joking, and he smirked at me and said I should be writing this stuff down, in case the dissertation thing doesn't work out, I can always find work as a writer for comic books. 

Like it's _that_ far-fetched, Big Guy. You're probably just bummed I thought of it first.

* * *

Jim took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled to himself. Spring had finally caught hold, and summer was nipping at its heels, he thought in satisfaction. Whistling under his breath, he waved to Simon and Taggart on his way out of the office.

He picked up a hamburger, then counteracted Blair's patented disapproval with a salad. As an afterthought, he added a milkshake to the order. He liked to flout the rules every once in awhile just to keep the kid on his toes. Blair would wonder for weeks what he'd said or done to convince Jim to break them.

The last two weeks had seen a drastic improvement in Blair's condition. The bladder infection had cleared up, he'd gained some weight, was looking more rested. McVey told Jim that if things continued looking up, they'd schedule Blair for the bone marrow transplant in another week. One more week, Jim thought joyfully. One more week and Blair would be cured. Cured, cured, cured. God, what a glorious word. 

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Preparation for the BMT starts tomorrow. I've had a pretty steady stream of visitors the last two days. A lot of people don't actually die from a bone marrow transplant, but from the complications of the treatment leading up to it. I'm scared. I can't seem to let Jim go. He gets up to go to the can, and I practically _freak._ I wonder what Mom thinks, seeing me so dependent on the guy? 

They inserted a tube in my chest where they'll administer the chemo that's destroying my shitty bone marrow. It doesn't hurt or anything, but it does feel weird. 

I've studied up so much on this, I practically feel like I could perform the transplant myself. I'll have a week, maybe ten days of chemo, then they transfuse the bone marrow. Then all we do is wait for the transplanted bone marrow to engraft and start producing normal blood cells. All we do. 

Not many visitors allowed once we get started because of the risk of infection. Even Jim and Mom can only visit during restricted hours. That should only last four to six weeks. They keep telling me I won't feel up to doing much of anything, that even talking on the phone or watching TV might feel like too much. 

This is a really critical time, when I'm open to infection and rejection of the donated bone marrow. 

My emotions are all over the place. One minute, I'm scared shitless, and I start thinking, 'let's wait a minute here. I need to think, I need to get myself centered.' Then the next, I'm thinking, 'let's just get this fucking show on the road, get this over with!' I'm tired of waiting, I'm tired of this endless limbo, stuck between life and death. Pick a side, dammit and go with it! 

And always there's this heavy sense of guilt. Mom and Jim are exhausted, frightened, hopeful...everything I feel is mirrored back to me in their eyes. But I've always said I've got the easy part. I mean, if something goes wrong, if it doesn't work, hey, it's over for me. 

But I can't pretend here, to myself, that I feel as cavalier as all that. I don't want to die. I'm no closer to resigning myself to that fate than the first day I heard this diagnosis. I'm not ready! 

Is anybody ever ready? I read something recently where a journalist asked this 90 year-old man if he ever wanted to be 90. The guy answered, "Not until I turned 89." 

There's so much more I have to do, you know? I hate feeling so... unfinished. Not just the dissertation, but, like, everything. Jim and I are only just beginning to make a life together--I want to see where we go, how we get there. What's going to happen in the next five years, ten years, twenty years. What's going to happen with Jim's career? Where will we live? Not just what city, but, where? A house? A cabin? The loft? How will Jim look with gray hair and reading glasses and even more laugh lines around his eyes? Who will take care of him? Who's going to love him and exasperate him and challenge him and look out for him? Who's going to give him head rubs when he's had a shitty day, and he's snarling about everything? Who's going to love him?

So, do I say something to Jim and my mom--make some declaration about how much I've enjoyed being lover and son, or do I act like everything's going to be okay and leave certain things unsaid? Could words possibly make any of this better? Easier? Perhaps some of us are given all this lead-in time before we die so we can make it neat and tidy at the end. All of us have lead-in time, though, don't we? The minute after we're born, we start on that journey towards death. I guess some of us just end up getting there a little bit sooner than others. 

Wouldn't you know this is the one time in my life where I'm _not_ habitually tardy?

* * *

The worst part was that they made Blair get up and walk around.

Not that picking the worst part was easy. It was all terrible--the violent vomiting and diarrhea, the constant headache and nosebleeds, the muscle cramps.

And the walking, up and around the nurses station every few hours. One time, Blair started crying, turning into Jim and sobbing into his chest, begging to be allowed to lie down.

He'd only broken down that once, toward the beginning. From then on, he was a rock, but it tore Jim apart seeing him grow weaker and more ill as the hours passed.

Blair wavered now, as he struggled out of bed and waited to make sure his legs would hold him. With a deep, if terribly shaky, breath, he made his way toward the door, this time taking a tour with Naomi to steady him.

_If I'd given him the serum, he would be in remission,_ Jim thought as he straightened the bed sheets and tidied up the room for the hundredth time that day. Blair and Naomi teased Jim about his fastidious obsession with the room, and Jim had stopped complaining that in a space that small, they had to keep it picked up or the walls would start closing in on them. His excuses just made the Sandburgs laugh at him and shake their heads.

_The remission is only temporary, though. This is permanent. This is a cure. When this is over, it'll be **over.** For good._

The serum wasn't a cure, all it could do was buy them a finite amount of time. This was different. This was a cure. It had to be. It had to be, because anything less meant that Jim had killed him, and it didn't take a genius like Blair to know that Jim couldn't live with that.

Naomi and Blair were back so soon, Jim knew they hadn't made it to the nurse's station. Blair's face was gray and covered with sweat. He was breathing hard, looking dazed and upset. But he shook off Jim's approach and made it to his bed under his own steam. With a groan, Blair leaned over and the sound of vomit splattering on the floor reverberated in Jim's ears with the force of Niagara Falls.

Naomi grabbed a bed pan while Jim cleaned up the mess.

Two more days and they would transfuse the healthy bone marrow, bone marrow belonging to the brother Blair didn't know he had.

And it would cure him. Because it had to.

* * *

Blair didn't get out of bed anymore. 

He was so weak, he couldn't even roll over without help. Save an occasional whimper or moan, Blair didn't speak. Jim and Naomi kept up a quiet, but steady stream of chatter, Jim filling him in on the news at the precinct, the cases he and the other officers were working on, the typical gossip, Naomi reminiscing about her travels, and Blair's childhood. Sometimes they listened to music. Sometimes it was silent. Sometimes Blair wrote in his journal, but never for very long. He would write a line or two and then rest, then another line and then rest some more.

It was shortly after Naomi had gone home to shower and try to sleep a little that Blair got sick again. He spit up weakly, his shoulders heaving. Jim helped him over to his side so he wouldn't choke. The look of sheer torture in Blair's eyes forced a sob from his throat before he stop it.

_He's doing this for me. He wouldn't have chosen this path if I hadn't forced it on him. My God, he's doing this for **me**!_

Suddenly Jim felt ashamed of all the times he'd grabbed Blair, urging him to demonstrate his love. _Prove it,_ he used to growl at the kid, shoving their groins together. _Prove it!_

He was joking, of course, and Blair knew that, but still it shamed Jim. As if the act of sex could prove anything. Jesus Christ, that Blair would go this far, would wring himself inside out this way... It was humbling and awe-inspiring, and Jim vowed he would find some way of rewarding his lover for such bravery. 

It was the stuff of fairy tales, no matter what Blair said. 

To love the way they did, that meant something. It mattered to someone or something, to Mother Earth, to God or Jesus or Mohammed, to whomever was keeping track of these things. It mattered.

And if given the chance, if given the privilege, Jim would find some way of honoring that love, of honoring his lover. 

All he needed was the chance.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I love you, Jim. I love you so wildly, so uninhibitedly, so thoroughly, I can't begin to think of any words to further convince you of it.

You're my best friend, my idol, my anchor. You make me laugh, you make me feel needed and important and brilliant and cherished. I've never known anyone like you.

You're the most honorable man I know. So many men would have crumbled through all this shit, but it's only made you stronger and more invincible in my eyes. 

Your touch strengthens and sustains me in a way that is almost mystical. I will always, always love you.

I thought about this entry for a long time. I feel so terrible right now. I thought I needed to write something down in case I died. I wanted you to have proof, irrefutable proof, of the way I felt.

But I'm not going to die, Jim. I'm not. I won't. I'm not going to die, because no words can offer you that proof. I have to _show_ you. I have to use my life to give you that proof. I owe you that and so much more. I promise you, for now and forever, to worship you with my body, and with my soul, to repay you for believing in me, for sticking with me, for dragging me, kicking and screaming through this nightmare. For giving me your strength and your conviction when mine had long gone.

I love you. Now and forever. Alpha and omega. Always.

* * *

The morning before they started the transplant, Jim could have sworn he heard the sound of trumpets and clarinets tuning up. He'd arrived at the hospital well before sun-up, donning the required surgical scrubs before slipping into Blair's room. He dozed off and awoke with a crick in his neck, and, apparently, band instruments in his ears. Jim wondered if his senses were wigging out on him again, the stress finally catching up to him.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a trumpet, and a crowd shouting, "Charge!"

"What in the world?" asked Naomi, hopping up to look out the windows. She gasped sharply. "Oh my God, Jim! Look!"

Standing behind her, Jim gazed outside. There in the parking lot, over a hundred people were milling around, including the Rainier University Marching Band in full dress uniform. A huge banner reading "GOOD LUCK, BLAIR!" spanned nearly the entire width of the lot. A local news camera was filming the scene. With every single person holding a bouquet of colorful balloons, it looked like a carnival.

Blair's friend, Susan Resnor, had mentioned to Jim that everyone at Rainier wanted to make some kind of show of support to Blair. Jim assumed she'd meant the Anthropology department, and that they'd all sign a card, send over a few people with well wishes and a gift of some sort.

Jim grinned and shook his head at himself. The last thing in the world Blair Sandburg would inspire was some grave, sedate gesture like that. 

No, Blair Sandburg inspired bright colors and loud music, laughter and cheers. A carnival.

Jim helped Blair over to the window, and if Naomi wondered how the detective could provide such detail about what was happening below, she didn't show it. "Hey, Elizabeth Mitchell is there," Jim reported. "Looks like she's with KCTV now. Some of the guys from the station are there, too. Ryf and Brown. There's Joel. Jesus, the whole department's down there. Simon let Darryl out of school, too. Hmm, looks like they've roped off an entire section for your ex's. Jeez, there's more of them than band members."

Blair pushed weakly against Jim's arm but smiled when Jim tightened his supportive hold.

One of the nurses came in the room to report that almost everyone who could had signed up to donate blood and platelets after the impromptu celebration was over.

Jim's heart twisted. He was moved, but not surprised, that Blair, his Blair, should engender such a show of support. He motioned to Naomi to hold on to Blair so he could go blow his nose. "Damn allergies," he muttered and watched Blair and Naomi trade knowing smiles.

The band played 'Hang On Sloopy,' then everyone released their balloons and a loud cheer went up from the crowd. "They're shouting 'good luck,'" Jim whispered into Blair's ear, removing the mask he wore and kissing the soft skin there. "Everyone's waving, Baby, and calling your name. They're laughing and smiling and telling you to get well soon."

Blair faltered for a minute, but Jim's arms were strong around him. He laid his palm flat against the window, and watched wide-eyed until the crowd started to disperse, the majority heading inside to donate blood. 

Blair's whispered, "Thank you," were the first words he'd spoken in days.

* * *

When the transplant was completed, Jim felt oddly let down. It happened in Blair's room, not a surgical lab or anything. When the marrow was completely transfused, the IV was simply disconnected, Blair's vitals checked, and then it was over. 

_Guess after the marching band, this is a little anticlimactic,_ Jim thought sardonically. At least there wasn't a host of heavenly angels singing. _Thanks for small miracles._

Jim felt the hair on his neck stand on end. _Actually, yeah. Thank you. Whoever's in charge of this shit, thank you. We've come this far, no points off for sarcasm, all right?...Shit, Sandburg, I sound just like you._

"That's not a bad thing," Jim said out loud, brushing his hand over Blair's forehead. The kid was awake, but the words didn't seem to reach him. He was curled over on his side, only the periodic blinking of his eyes indicating he was conscious. "It's not bad if I sound like you, is it, Baby?" Jim crooned. "I don't think so. I start spouting obscure anthropological nonsense, then we start worrying, okay? Your mom and Simon are having lunch again. That's twice in three days. Should we be worrying about that? I guess not, but you might have to have one of those, 'That's my mom,' talks with Simon if it keeps up. Are you thirsty, Baby? Do you want something to drink?"

There was no reaction from Blair, but when Jim put a straw to his lips he took a couple of swallows. He frowned suddenly and made a sound of frustration. Jim gently rolled him onto his back, and his face smoothed over. "Let's raise the bed a little, what do you say?" Jim said, the back already slowly rising. "There we go, we'll sit up for just a minute, all right. Close your eyes if you get dizzy."

Blair sighed and moaned in the same breath. "I know you're frustrated," Jim soothed. "But it's almost over. We're almost through with this shit, that's why it's so hard right now. We're _almost_ through. It's like that last hour of a stakeout. You know the bust is coming; you've been working up to it for weeks, sometimes months, and the big payoff is just around the corner. It's easy to lose your cool in those last few minutes. The adrenaline is pumping, and you know all the shit will have been worth it."

Blair groaned again, his breath quickening, and Jim ran his sensitive fingertips over the younger man's body, finding a muscle spasm in his lower back. Jim gently kneaded the area until Blair sighed, and his breathing eased. 

Jim continued his monologue. "There you go, Sweetheart, all better, right? Hey, you getting excited for our camping trip? God, I know I am. This is just about the longest we've ever gone without getting away. Hell, kid, I'm just excited to get you home. I miss your breakfast dishes in the sink. What do you think about that? On the mornings you leave before I do, they're always there in the sink. I can tell what kind of cereal you ate, or what you put on your bagel...I don't know why I like that, but I do. Proof that you were there, I guess. And I miss the sound of you cooking. Well, first things first, I miss your cooking! I've been meaning to ask why Naomi indulges your little meat fetishes, but I've been on strict vegetarian rations since she got here. But I really miss the sound of you cooking. I like watching you do things like that. Cooking, reading, doing reports. You're beautiful when you're concentrating. Especially when you concentrate on me."

That almost got a smile out of the kid, making Jim feel ridiculously victorious. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. Neanderthal Man, right? Well, that's all right, Chief. That's pretty accurate sometimes."

Blair grunted and Jim helped shift his position again. "Okay, Sweetheart, over on the other side now. Oops, whoa there, buddy, okay. It's all right. Oh, come on now, it's not so bad. Let me just get you cleaned up here. I know you're tired, Baby. Aww, come on, don't cry. Look, just sit up for a second here, and I'll clean you up and we'll get these sheets changed, and you can go to sleep, how's that sound? That's good, right? Right." Jim kept talking as he wiped Blair's face and removed his pajamas and buzzed the nurse to have someone change the sheets.

Tears were streaming down Blair's smooth cheeks, but it was too much effort to release a sob. "Don't cry, Baby. It's nothing to cry about," Jim soothed. "Look, all cleaned up now. Everything's okay..." 

Jim changed the sheets himself, the presence of the nurse and orderly making the kid more self-conscious and upset. Jim brought a clean blanket up around Blair shoulders and smiled warmly at the younger man. He had stopped crying, watching Jim with round blue eyes, as if he was doing something utterly fascinating. Jim couldn't help but grin at that studious face. 

"All done," Jim said, balling the soiled sheets up and tossing them toward the door.

Blair smiled then, hesitant and unsure, but love shining out of those beautiful eyes. 

Jim tucked the blanket around him again, and lowered the mask to kiss him, urging him to sleep and then helping him along with a favorite bedtime story. "After you're better," Jim whispered, "you and I are going on a trip. Somewhere far away..."

Even after Blair fell asleep, Jim continued whispering his story. He liked it, and besides, it had a great ending.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

First entry, post-BMT. It's been a week, and I feel the same. I mean, me, as a person. I feel exactly like I did before the transplant. I thought I'd feel...I don't know, _different._ This complete stranger's bone marrow is flowing through my body, manufacturing blood cells, which is so damn _weird!_ Maybe I'll start developing cravings for strange foods, start listening to weird music (although you'd say I already do that, right, Big Guy?) I guess that's pretty much sci-fi bullshit, but it does offer an interesting, hands-on take on the nature versus nurture debate.

I'm really tired. What's new, right? Only this is a totally different kind of tired. Bone deep. Sometimes I lie here, and I really, really want to shift position, turn over, or onto my side, and I sit here and think about it for awhile, and try to summon up the energy for it, and it, like, doesn't happen. I end up whining to Mom or Jim and they have to help me. It's taken a day and a half to write this entry so far. A couple of words and I'm totally zonked. Jim offered to write down what I dictated, but I've tried that before. For awhile, I carried one of those hand-held tape recorders, then I'd transcribe the entry in the laptop, but the journal just didn't provide the same, I don't know, catharsis. Something about writing the words without speaking them somehow helps me keep honest and open.

The doctors and nurses warned me before the transplant that I'd feel pretty wiped afterwards, but it's still a disappointment. Despite what they said, I expected to wake up and bound out of bed like none of this ever happened.

At least everything looks good with the transplant. No sign of rejection or anything. Jim seems confident we've really beaten it this time. Naomi must be suffering from delayed shock syndrome or something. She's really out of it, and when she is in the moment, she's usually bawling. I think maybe I came closer to kicking it than either one of them are telling me.

* * *

[Two Weeks Later]

When Jim dropped by after work, Blair was lying flat on his back, his pillows sitting on the couch. Jim grimaced in annoyance, assuming at first that the orderly who changed the sheets had neglected to replace them. Blair would not have asked for them. He would not have rung his call button without Jim there. Hell, he wouldn't have rung the button _with_ Jim there. Jim would have taken care of the problem without involving him at all.

They'd fallen into the pattern right after the transplant, when Blair was simply too weak and too overwhelmed to do much of anything except lie there. Jim used his senses to gauge whether the younger man was too hot or too cold, whether his discomfort needed medication or diversion. If there was a choice to be made, Jim made it, more often than not without Blair ever realizing there had _been_ a choice.

Jim started to bring the pillows over, then the oxygen by the bed and Blair's labored breathing registered. Jim's heart fell. Pneumonia. Now he heard the fluid rattling in Blair's lungs and felt the fever wafting off him. But he'd felt good that morning. Not fine, not okay, but _good!_

Blair's eyes filled with tears when Jim's face came into view. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a thick, raspy voice.

"It's okay," Jim said, brushing his hand over Blair's heated forehead. "Why didn't you call me?"

Blair shrugged. "I went to sleep," he said worriedly. "And I woke up and I couldn't...I couldn't breathe right, and the nurse came in and then the doctor and I wasn't sure what happened, and then I went to sleep again..." A single tear slipped down Blair's cheek.

"It's okay," Jim said again. "Ah, come on, don't cry. It's okay."

"I feel so sick," Blair said, sniffing. "I thought I'd be better. I'm supposed to get better!"

"We knew this could happen," Jim explained patiently. He wet a washcloth in the bathroom and ran the cool cloth over Blair's face and chest. "Pneumonia's common, we knew that. They were looking for it, and they caught it right away. You'll be fine."

"I want to go home," Blair sighed, turning away from Jim. 

"I know, Sweetheart, but..."

"I'm not your Sweetheart!" Blair said irritably. "Quit saying that. I haven't been that for months."

Jim knew nothing he said would help at that moment, so he remained silent.

"I'm not anything anymore!" Blair angrily continued. "I'm nothing but this fucking lump of flesh that isn't worth SHIT! God dammit, I'm supposed to be better!" A coughing attack cut off any further ranting. When it stopped, Blair laid back, panting and spent.

And still Jim said nothing, but he was ready when tears gathered in Blair's eyes, and the younger man gazed searchingly at him. "Am I going to be okay, Jim?"

Jim gingerly hugged his lover. "Yes, you are," he said calmly. Blair didn't believe him at first. Jim could tell by the stiff way he held himself, by his reluctance to return the embrace.

But Jim remained silent, his arms wrapped around his lover. And then he felt Blair soften against him, and he felt Blair sigh and bring his arms up around him. And Jim smiled because he knew Blair believed it too.

Still it was nice to get confirmation. Blair kissed his cheek and settled his head on the broad shoulder, and sounded like a little boy when he whispered, "Tell me about after."

So Jim did.

* * *

The antibiotics weren't working. Jim saw the gravity of Blair's condition in the faces of the doctors and nurses he saw every day. Thankfully, Naomi remained as positive and upbeat as he did, but as one week faded into two, Jim grew more and more concerned, his utter conviction that Blair would be okay didn't falter, not a single bit, but his faith in that conviction did. 

Was it possible that he was wrong about this? 

Blair's worn journal was on the bedside table, untouched since the pneumonia set in the week before. Jim sighed and picked it up, rifling through the pages, homesick for the sound of Blair's voice. Jim glanced over one or two entries, still feeling slightly circumspect, like he was eavesdropping on the kid. It amazed Jim the way Blair was so willing to reveal his emotions, even if it was just to himself. And Jim.

Jim wanted the journal to make him feel close to Blair, but instead it was just making him sad, making him miss the lover he no longer had.

Then he came across the entry Blair made the day before the BMT. Jim's face flushed deeply, his body temperature spiking at the exhilaration, the strength of Blair's words. Intense, just like the man himself.

Blair wrote, "...I'm not going to die, Jim. I'm not. I won't. I'm not going to die, because no words can offer you that proof. I have to _show_ you. I have to use my life to give you that proof. I owe you that and so much more. I promise you, for now and forever, to worship you with my body, and with my soul, to repay you for believing in me, for sticking with me, for dragging me, kicking and screaming through this nightmare. For giving me your strength and your conviction when mine had long gone."

Jim smiled serenely now. "Thank you, Baby," he whispered, and carefully closed the notebook and laid it on the bedside table as if it were made of glass. "For giving me the exact same thing."

Continued in part seven.


	7. Chapter 7

Due to the length of this story, it's been split into seven parts.

## Miles To Go

by Myrna

Continued from part six. 

* * *

Miles To Go - Part seven 

Jim winced when Blair's body convulsed, and he spit up the last few spoonfuls he'd eaten. Blair made a sad, distressed sound as Jim grabbed the towel on his chest and cleaned him up. "My fault," Jim soothed. "Little fast there with the spoon. It's okay, though. You're okay, I just need to slow down a bit." He kept Blair calm, smiling down at him with warm, blue eyes. "Sorry about that, we'll go slower. You're doin' great. I'm proud of you, okay? You're doin' great."

The barest hint of a smile crept across Blair's face, Jim felt his throat tighten with emotion. Blair had been gravely ill for close to two weeks. The pneumonia refused to lessen its grip on him, the fever raged within him, his lungs heavy and congested, the fatigue an extra weight on shoulders too hunched and frail to support it.

The last week had been brutal. Now it was to the point where even eating, good God, _eating_ was a burden to the kid, yet there he was, trying his hardest to please Jim, to make him proud.

"Okay, we're going to try again, now. Nice and easy."

Blair made a fretful noise and tried to hide his face.

"Just a few more bites, and we're done," Jim promised. "Three more bites, that's all you have to do, okay? Then I'll tell you how the Carmichael case finished up. You'll like that story. Right up your alley." Jim followed Blair's mouth with the spoon, finally pressing down on his lower lip and involuntarily, Blair's mouth opened enough for him to slip the spoon in. Blair made a face, but swallowed, sighing in defeat. "Hey, that's great," Jim praised, wiping the corner of Blair's mouth with a fresh towel. "We'll just wait a second here, make sure that stays down. Two more spoonfuls, then you're done. You're all done. Got a new magazine to read tonight. Well, you actually got two new ones, but we're reading Smithsonian tonight. No way I'm struggling through Journal of the Experimental Analysis of Behavior. You laugh at my pronunciation enough as it is."

"You ready for another bite, now?" Jim asked. Blair turned his head, but Jim followed. Blair grudgingly opened his mouth. "Great," Jim said with another smile. "Hey, get this. The city of Chicago has been sniffing around Simon for the chief of police opening. Chicago PD, how about that? Guess I should have taken that Captain's exam, huh? Looks like there might be an opening. Well, I don't know about that. Sure Simon's interested-- he'd be crazy not to be. That's quite an opportunity. But it is in Chicago. I guess Darryl's not too happy about that. He already told Simon he's staying here to finish school."

There was a subtle change in Blair's eyes, concern clouding them. Jim's heart twisted with emotion. "There you go into Fix-It mode," Jim teased. "I think Darryl _and_ Simon want to talk this over with you. I don't think Simon ever realized how much stuff he bounces off you. I kind of get a kick out of it, you know? My lover--the Dear Abby of the Cascade PD."

The vaguest of smiles flitted across Blair's face. 

"Okay, one more bite," Jim said. Blair's eyes darkened and he frowned. "Come on, now, it's not that bad," Jim coaxed. "You're doin' great there. One more bite and you're done for the night, and I'll tell you about the Carmichael arrest, and we'll read a couple of articles and then you'll get a shot, and you'll go to sleep. One more bite." Blair stubbornly grit his teeth together, refusing to budge against Jim's gentle prods. "Come on, Honey, this is the last one, I promise. One more bite. We said three more and this is the third."

Jim knew Blair was refusing simply because he could; because this was virtually the last minute area of control he still possessed. If the kid didn't need the calories so desperately, Jim would have gladly given in. They just didn't have the luxury anymore. "For me, okay? Just take this last bite for me, and we'll be all done." Jim leaned down and gently nuzzled Blair's nose. "Be a good kid tonight, okay?"

Blair's expressive eyes flashed with emotion, the last of which was resignation. Blair opened his mouth and swallowed, sighing and looking away from Jim as he did. "Ah, that's great, Blair," Jim commended. "Thanks. You did great tonight, you know that? Just great." He kissed Blair's forehead, then wiped his face with a damp cloth and set the tray aside.

"Okay, then, first we'll have the Once Upon a Time portion of our evening. Brown, Ryf and I managed to smoke out Carmichael. We got a tip that he was holed up at his cousin's garage over in Mt. Sterling, right? So we get the search warrant and head over there. Man, I used to think you talked too much, Sandburg. Try bein' in a car with Brown for an hour and a half. The man makes you look closed-mouthed."

Blair smiled, the expression actually lasting long enough for Jim to enjoy it.

* * *

Jim was just leaving Blair's room as Simon hesitantly walked up. "Hi, Simon," Jim said with a smile. He had started to untie the top of his green scrub, but instead, refastened it. "Come to visit Blair?"

"Is that all right?" Simon asked, and Jim thought he looked very much like he hoped the answer was no.

"That's great," Jim said.

Simon looked around and found the scrubs required. He put them on slowly, and Jim hid a grin borne mostly of understanding. It would have been hard to see anyone like this, but somehow, it being the normally hyperactive Blair seemed to make it twice as hard.

When Simon was ready, Jim pushed the door open and held it, motioning for Simon to go on in. The captain stepped inside the door and stopped, gruffly clearing his throat and fumbling with his surgeon's gloves for quite some time.

Jim slipped around him and walked up to Blair's bedside. He touched Blair's cheek and called to him softly. "Hey Chief," he said. "You with me? Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Jim, don't wake him!" Simon said urgently, backing up towards the door as he spoke.

"He'd never forgive me if he slept through your visit," Jim said good-naturedly and almost chuckled at Simon's furrowed brows. No doubt the captain thought him nearly delusional, but Blair was surprisingly aware of what went on around him. He still had feelings and emotions, good days and bad. Jim reached over the bed and turned the volume down on the heart monitor. He rearranged the tubes and wires poking into and out of the younger man, then caressed his cheek once more. 

Blair's eyes opened slowly. He swallowed with difficulty and tried to lick his dry lips. Jim smiled lovingly at him, communicating safety and hope and comfort to the confused man. "There you are," Jim said, brushing his hand over Blair's forehead, leaning down close and kissing his cheek. "I guess I'm not going after all, Chief," Jim said slowly and quietly. "Look who's here." Jim stood to the side, gently shifting Blair's head to the left so he could see Simon who had diffidently come to stand behind Jim. 

It took a minute, but the spark of recognition lit in Blair's eyes, and he smiled.

Jim felt a rush of warmth and affection for his lover as he noted Simon's gust of relieved breath. "Hey there, Sandburg!" Simon said, his voice getting louder in his excitement. Blair flinched and drew back slightly, but Jim leaned in close, still calmly stroking his smooth, pale cheek.

"Yeah, Baby, it's Simon," Jim said, offering the younger man a rewarding smile, as if he'd just done something clever and wonderful. Blair's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. Jim's own smile widened and he nodded his encouragement at Blair and helped lift his chin so his eyes could meet Simon's. "Simon came to see you," Jim crooned, "That's pretty nice, huh? Pretty nice of the crusty old guy, huh?"

Simon made a token sound of protest for Blair's benefit. There was reaction from Blair--Jim knew it was amusement, Simon probably couldn't identify it. Jim chuckled. He moved to the side and coaxed Simon a little closer to the bed. "It helps if you hold on to his hand," Jim explained to the captain. "Helps him focus."

Simon nodded and slipped his large hand into Blair's small, thin one. "He's so cold!" Simon said, more to himself than Jim. 

Jim, still petting Blair's face, didn't take his eyes off the younger man. "Yeah, Sandburg gives new meaning to 'cold hands, warm heart,' isn't that right?"

Another glint of reaction, this time even Simon had to be able to read the adoration flooding from Blair's wide blue eyes. "Yeah, that's right," Jim said, voicing the words Blair couldn't.

Simon was obviously self-conscious at first, but helped along by Jim's interpretations of Sandburg's responses, he relaxed. Blair soon tired, and Simon started to make his good-byes. That was when the kid started to cough.

The panic on Blair's face was unmistakable. Jim calmly helped him over on to his side, and when Blair vomited, Jim held a towel to his mouth, clucking gently and telling the younger man over and over that he was okay, that everything was okay. Blair grew more agitated though, hyperventilating until his lips were blue. Jim deftly attached an oxygen mask, then firmly held Blair down.

"Sandburg!" he barked, and when he had Blair's attention, he tapped his forefinger, between his eyes. "You look right here, Chief," he ordered. "You look right here, and you concentrate, and you breathe, and you _calm down._ " 

Blair fretfully shook his head, still gasping, but Jim held fast, his stare nearly mesmerizing. "Concentrate," Jim ordered. "Breathe."

Blair did as instructed and the tortured gasps for air lessened until he fell into an exhausted sleep. 

"You're pretty damn good at that," Simon said in a shaky voice.

Jim grinned. "Learned from a master," he said with a shrug.

"Dear God, Jim..." Simon said sadly, slowly shaking his head.

"He's going to be okay, Simon," Jim said quickly. "It's hard to watch right now, but he's going to be fine." 

Jim took Simon's silence to be disagreement and he hastened to explain further. "We wouldn't get this far and lose now," Jim said. "It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right. We've earned this, Simon. Whoever's making us jump through these hoops, we've proven whatever the hell it is they wanted us to prove. We're home free, Sir." Jim grinned along with a self-deprecating shrug. "We're just the only ones who know it."

* * *

The doctors asked Jim if Blair should be listed as NTBR, which stood for 'Not To Be Resuscitated.' It meant that if Blair stopped breathing or his heart stopped beating there would be no medical intervention.

Jim knew the kid didn't want to be kept alive by machines. But Jim felt more comfortable with that decision coming on a case-by- case basis, not some blanket order.

He pleaded his case to Blair's mother, who was inclined to sign the order. "Naomi, you have to believe in Blair. Believe in _us._ Through all of this _shit,_ you were always on our side, you always believed in Blair, in his ability to get through this! Don't give up on us now!"

Naomi blinked away tears. "Jim, signing the paper doesn't mean we're giving up..."

"Yes it does!" Jim argued. "Look, honey, Blair might need a little help, that's all. We're not talking about leaving him on life support or anything. I won't let that happen, I swear to you, Naomi. I swear I won't let that happen, but we sign this paper, and they won't do anything. Not anything, and we might need some help. That's all I'm saying. If we need a little help, we get it. That's all."

In the end, overwhelmed by a man who'd obviously honed his powers of persuasion at the heels of a master, Naomi agreed that there would be no such order.

And the very next night, Blair coded.

The kid had been restless and distressed most of the day, sliding in and out of consciousness, his breathing harsh and erratic. A ventilator had been placed in the room.

Simon had taken Naomi down to the cafeteria to try and coax some dinner into her. Jim refused to budge, shrugging vaguely when Simon said they'd bring something up for him.

Jim felt like they were standing at the edge of a sharp cliff, the ground eroding beneath their feet. Helplessness and frustration warred within him, reminding him of his adolescence and a demanding father who was never satisfied with his son. B's should have been A's, second place finishes should have been firsts. Nothing was ever clean enough, good enough, right enough. Jim remembered spending what felt like years fighting the overwhelming urge to scream at the man, "What do you want from me? What the fuck do you want from me?"

The same question circled his brain now as he watched his lover fight for his next breath and his next. 

_What do you want from us? What more can we do?_

"Come on, Baby, come on," Jim said, his voice unnaturally high, thinking maybe he could still talk Blair through this rough spot. "Blair, remember about after?" Jim asked, speaking too fast, his hands roving over the younger man in a frantic attempt to help, somehow, to help him. "Remember what I said? Remember Blair? Camping? Remember? No people? No hospitals, no needles? You just need to get better, Baby, that's all you need to do. Get stronger."

Blair's back arched as he tried to drag air into his congested lungs. 

"We're going on a trip!" Jim reminded him, his hands gripping the front of Blair's hospital gown. "Camping, Blair. In the Xavier Mountains, remember? Remember? Outside, in the world, fresh air, blue skies."

Eyes still closed, Blair choked and coughed, phlegm dribbling down the side of his mouth. Jim wiped it away with his thumb, irrational anger at Blair's obstinacy churning in the pit of his stomach.

"You need to stop this!" Jim hissed, leaning down into Blair's face. "You listen to me, Sandburg! You need to cut this out! You're fucking wimping out on me here, and it's starting to piss me off!"

Horrified, Jim suddenly realized he was shaking Blair.

"I'm sorry!" he whispered, carefully laying Blair flat and petting his chest with gentle, placating hands. "I'm sorry, I'm not mad, Baby, I'm not mad." 

Jim's desperate hands caressed Blair's forehead and cheeks, then awkwardly patting his shoulder. "You're doing great, you know that. You just have to try a little harder, here, that's all. You can do that, right? You can do that!"

Spitefully, Blair laid there, limp and gasping, his respiration growing excessively shallow. 

And then stopping.

Several machines sounded warnings, but Jim didn't hear them. With a shout of dismay, he grabbed Blair once again by the front of his gown. "Don't you do this, Sandburg!" he screamed. "Don't you do this to me, God dammit! Breathe, you motherfucker! Breathe!"

Suddenly there were people everywhere, and the sounds Jim had filtered out were magnified tenfold. The doctors and nurses were shouting at him, wrestling Blair away from him, the machines were blaring at ungodly decibels, Simon was yelling at him too, and Naomi was moaning. 

Jim let go of Blair, his hands automatically covering his ears in a feeble attempt to protect himself from the onslaught.

Simon pulled him away from the bed, away from Blair, and they watched the medical team ferociously administer CPR.

A crash cart was brought in and when the electric current surged through Blair, it lifted him from the bed. 

But it did not start his heart beating. 

Jim's tenuous control was shattered by the sickening buzz of electricity and the sharp _thud_ as Blair's body absorbed the current. "Stop it! Stop it!" Jim screamed, the words erupting from him almost involuntarily. "You're killing him! Jesus Christ, stop!" He pushed away the doctors and nurses who were preparing for another shock. Jim threw himself at Blair, still shouting as hands snatched at him, tried to pull him back. "Get off him! Do you hear me? Get off! Blair! Blair! Oh God, Blair!"

"Jesus, watch the paddles!" one of the doctors cried, while an alert nurse quickly shut off the crash cart.

Simon grabbed Jim from behind, wrapping his arms around Jim at the detective's shoulders, rendering the man immobile. Jim roared with rage and fought to release himself while Simon forcibly dragged him from the room.

"Blair! Blair! Oh God, oh God, Blair!"

"Ellison, you are _not_ going to lose it now, do you hear me?" Simon growled in his ear. "Take a deep breath, man. Calm down."

Jim realized then, what this had been about. And then, with a stark flash of fear, he knew he had failed. No, no, not failed. _Almost_ failed. 

His confidence had wavered, that was the problem. He had doubted. 

_Oh God, oh God, oh God._

Would he be punished for the lapse? Blair was going to be fine. Shit, he knew that. He _knew_ that. 

Jim shook free of Simon's hold. "I'm okay," he said hoarsely, holding the wall as he carefully made his way over to a chair and sank down on it. "It's okay," he muttered. "I just forget for a minute. It's okay."

Jim closed his eyes for a minute and pictured the journal entry he had long since memorized. If someone asked, he could recite it word-for-word as definitive proof that Blair would be fine. It wouldn't help convince anyone else, but that didn't really matter. It only mattered that Jim and Blair believed, and they did.

"...I'm not going to die, Jim. I'm not. I won't. I'm not going to die, because no words can offer you that proof. I have to _show_ you. I have to use my life to give you that proof..."

Slumped in a chair, head in his hands, Jim shuddered and rocked, hating himself for the momentary lapse in confidence. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered to himself. 

Jim took a few deep, cleansing breaths and easily tuned into the activity in Blair's room. _See, I couldn't do that if you were dying, Blair. The senses would be gone, we both know that. But I can hear them, and you're going to be okay. I know that. I'm the one who had to remember, and I do._

Even Simon and Naomi heard the collective cheer from Blair's room when an acceptable rhythm was restored. Jim sighed and leaned back in the chair, long legs sprawled out before him. A few seconds later, one of the nurses invited them back in the room.

Blair was semi-conscious, his eyes open but unseeing. The nurse was wiping a line of spittle from his chin. 

Behind him, Jim heard Naomi's breath catch, and he was aware of Simon gently lowering her to the couch as she started crying.

Jim's thundering heart calmed almost instantly. It was over. He smiled then, a huge, incongruous grin bursting forth. He moved toward Blair, wondering if the others could see the glow that outlined his slight frame. It was all over. Smooth sailing from here on out. Everything was fine. Hell, past fine, everything was fucking perfect.

Hearing Naomi's desolate sobs, Jim would have given anything in the world if she could have just felt for an instance the utter conviction flooding his soul. The worst was over. Blair would be fine. They'd passed the test, come through with flying colors. It was over.

A bark of laughter escaped Jim before he could stop it, and he knew if he said anything they would all think he was crazy-- doctors, nurses, Simon, Naomi. 

But Jim knew with the certainty of the truly deranged that Blair was not going to die now. _I really am crazy about you, Chief,_ he thought, and that was when he'd laughed, joy radiating inside him, replacing the anger and desperation, reflected back to him in the beautiful light that bathed his lover. 

In a low voice, Jim asked Simon to take Naomi down to the cafeteria and see if he couldn't calm her down. He promised to find them if there was a change in Blair's condition. 

The atmosphere of the room lightened immensely once it cleared out. Jim approached the bed, and winced at the war-torn look on Blair's face. 

As gingerly as he could, Jim picked up the wasted body, more bones and loose skin than anything. It was like picking up a feather pillow, there was barely any mass to the kid at all. 

Blair moaned, a deep throaty indication of misery. Shushing him gently, Jim sat back against the wall, enveloping his young lover in his arms.

Blair sobbed a few times, but quieted under Jim's slow, soothing pets. "That's it, Baby, go to sleep," Jim crooned as he began to just barely rock with Blair in his arms. "Go to sleep and tomorrow you'll feel better. And the next day you'll feel better than that, and every day you'll feel better and better, 'til we're at home, and it's after, Baby. It'll finally be after."

Blair buried his face against Jim's neck and sobbed again. He grunted in pain when Jim unexpectedly shifted him, but it was a more comfortable position, and Jim felt the tense, frail body relax against him.

"Go to sleep," Jim whispered. "Go to sleep, Baby."

It must have been a song his mother sang to him, that was the way Jim figured it. He was rocking his lover in his arms, aware of the bone-deep misery seeping from every pore of the man. The quiet in the room was stifling, and if Jim wasn't careful, he knew he would zone out on the kid's erratic heartbeat or his pained breathing or any of the hundred other signs of distress from the kid. So Jim started singing, as a distraction, unsure if Blair could even hear him.

He sang it over and over again, until his voice was hoarse and even a Sentinel wouldn't have been able to hear him.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

* * *

The sun had already risen the next morning, when Jim stifled a groan and moved to lie Blair back down on the bed. He was startled to see that not only were Blair's eyes opened, but they held more awareness than Jim had seen in weeks. A smile burst across his face. "Hey!" he said.

"Hey," Blair whispered.

"How are you?"

"Better," Blair said, with such a surprised tone that both he and Jim chuckled. "I love you, Jim," the younger man said, his breath hitching and tears gathering in his eyes. "Alpha and omega, Big Guy. Alpha and omega."

* * *

There were so many inquiries into the status of Blair Sandburg's health that the hospital set up a voice mail number for people to call. Jim or Naomi updated the information twice a day with information about Blair's prognosis, his white count, the doctors' latest updates, what blood types the hospital especially needed.

Walking into the bullpen, Jim Ellison heard Simon Banks listening to the tail end of the recording that happily announced Blair's condition being downgraded from critical to serious. Banks grinned and nodded in satisfaction, but when he looked out towards Jim's desk, he seemed surprised to see Jim sitting at it.

"Hey, that's great about Sandburg," Simon called, walking over to his detective. "Kind of thought you'd be celebrating at the hospital."

"Well, I would," Jim said, rifling through his desk until he found the files he was looking for. "I've got to testify at that Riley Burnett trial tomorrow."

"Burnett?" Simon echoed, frowning. "Jim, that's in Sacramento."

Jim lifted an inquisitive brow at the Captain. "That's what my plane ticket says," he said.

"You can't leave!" Simon said.

Jim grinned. "Last I checked, I wasn't out on bail, Captain. And I don't think I'm on probation. Any other reason why I'm not allowed out of the city limits?"

Simon cast his eyes upward in exasperation. "Jim! A week ago the kid's heart stopped!"

"And last night, he walked all the way to the bathroom by himself," Jim replied, packing the files he needed into a briefcase. "His temperature's normal, he's gained three pounds, and the nurses are clawing at each other for the privilege of giving him a sponge bath. He's gonna be fine, Captain! When are you guys gonna back me up on that?"

"Does Naomi know about this?" Simon barked.

Jim tried to school the grin from his face, but wasn't very successful. "She does, but it sure is hard to catch up with her, Sir," he admitted. "Every time I have something to tell her, she's eating lunch or dinner or some kind of late afternoon snack with one of Cascade's finest."

The heat of Simon's embarrassment reached the Sentinel, whose look of grave innocence did more than anything else to set the Captain off.

"Look, Captain, I'm only going to be gone a day or two, max," Jim said, finished teasing the man only because he had to stop off at the hospital before heading to the airport. "Naomi has the number to my cell phone in case she needs me. The kid's fine."

"I can tell," Simon groused, mumbling all the way back to his office. Jim could hear him as he took the elevator down to the parking garage. "Kid's health improves the more of a smart ass you become, Detective. Switching roles with that guide of yours that's what. We're going to nip that in the bud, mister, I guarantee you..."

Arriving at the hospital, Jim donned the prerequisite surgical gown, affixed his mask, and pushed open the door of Blair's room. Naomi was reading the latest issue of Mother Jones to Blair who appeared to be asleep, but he roused when Naomi stopped reading.

"Mm, hey," he mumbled to the room at large.

"Hey," Jim said, slipping his hand into Blair's and giving it a squeeze which was weakly returned. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Blair answered. He looked at Jim closely, eyes squinted. "How come you're so dressed up?" he asked.

Jim squeezed his hand again. "We talked about this yesterday. I've got to testify in Sacramento tomorrow."

"Sacramento?" Blair echoed, then said softly, "No. You stay here."

"You remember," Jim coaxed. "I've got to testify against Riley Burnett. I'll be back tomorrow. Friday at the latest."

"But you're supposed to stay here," Blair said, as if Jim simply needed to be reminded of that fact.

"Defending the tribe, remember? That includes making sure the bad guys get put away after I catch 'em. I'm genetically predisposed."

Blair looked slyly at his lover. "But I have a headache," he whined and coughed weakly for effect.

Jim gave Blair his best 'don't-kid-a-kidder' look. "You just said you felt fine."

Blair frowned, and Jim almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he looked for a way to make Jim forget leaving.

"I want you to stay here," he said with a sigh, obviously deciding to come clean. "I need you to be here."

Jim slipped in behind Blair and held the younger man to his chest, arms tight around him. "You know I want to be here more than anything, Blair. But I really do have to testify. It's only for a day or two. You can call me if you need me, and I'll come right home if something goes wrong."

Blair sighed and said in a sleepy voice, "I'll miss you. I...I need you here. With me."

Jim kissed Blair and rocked him in his arms. "Sandburg, I've been telling you that for years," he said with a contented sigh. "'Bout time you started listening to your older and wiser partner."

Blair started to groan, but before he finished he fell back asleep. Jim held him for as long as he could, just making it to the airport in time to jump on the plane and take off for Sacramento.

* * *

Jim made it back after only a day and a half, but that was enough time to notice the marked improvement in Blair.

"Hey, look at you!" Jim exclaimed happily as soon as he walked in the hospital room.

Blair grinned, all shy pride. He extended his arms, free of all but one IV. The heart monitor had been disconnected and sat unobtrusively in the far corner of the room. "Look at me!" Blair said.

With a grin at Naomi, Jim moved forward, opening his own arms as well and letting Blair draw him into an embrace. "Oh Baby, you are a sight for sore eyes," Jim huffed into his ear, rubbing Blair's back with one large hand. He kissed the top of Blair's head and nuzzled the smooth, soft skin.

"You were only gone for a day and a half," Blair wryly reminded him.

"You didn't want me to go at all!" Jim answered with a surprised laugh.

"I forgot how short a day really was," Blair said with his bratty grin.

Jim chuckled and rested his forehead against Blair's. "That's like a couple of months in dog years," he answered. "You look great. How you feeling?"

"Better," Blair admitted with a smile.

Naomi watched them with a smile on her face, though Jim had started to notice a kind of reticence in her when the three of them were together. He thought he understood when they spoke again that evening over dinner in the hospital cafeteria.

"I think it's time that I tell Blair," Naomi said, looking at Jim almost as if she was asking his permission. And that she resented it.

"I'll keep it quiet if that's what you want," Jim said, thinking the slight deception was a small price to pay for Blair's life.

"Would you really keep something this monumental from Blair?" Naomi asked, head cocked to the side as if she was merely curious, but Jim knew there was more to it than that.

The detective studied his plate for a minute before answering. "If it involved anyone other than you, I'd say no," Jim said carefully. "I'm usually pretty sure I'm the only one in the universe who knows how to love Blair." He shrugged then, and gave Naomi his most charming smile. "I'm starting to think maybe you give me a run for my money in that department."

Naomi smiled slowly, amusement reaching all the way up to her eyes for the first time in weeks.

* * *

Jim could tell Blair knew something was up right away. He and Naomi rarely sat with the kid together first thing in the morning. That had nothing to do with disagreements, so much as trying to find a workable schedule that kept someone with Blair as often as possible.

Blair looked warily from Jim to Naomi. "Am I okay?" he asked Jim.

The detective smiled his most gentle smile. "You're great," he said, sitting down on one side of his lover, while Naomi sat down on a chair near the bed.

She reached over and briefly squeezed Blair's hand, then clasped both of her hands on her lap and took a deep breath. "Honey, I want to talk to you about the bone marrow donor," she carefully began.

Blair smiled, unsure where the conversation was going to go, that uncertainty lessened as he reached for Jim and laid his hand on the older man's forearm. "Yeah?"

"Blair, Sweetie, when I first left home, I ended up in New York, where I met a man. I got pregnant shortly after I arrived there."

Blair looked confused. "But I was born in New Mexico," he reminded her.

Naomi nodded. "Let me just get this out," she said softly. "I gave birth to a son, who was then adopted by the father and...and the father's wife."

"Wife?" Blair echoed. "He was married?"

Naomi nodded, her eyes filling with tears she seemed to willfully refuse to have shed. "Yes, honey, he was. I was...employed by the family, and I stayed there for almost two years and watched them raise my son, watched him call another woman 'Mommy.' I stayed as long as I could, but it was just too hard, Blair. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. It was a very dark time for me, and I was very angry at the way I'd been treated. So before I left, I slept with the man again. I got pregnant again, and ended up in New Mexico. Where I had you."

Blair's face had paled, and he looked suddenly like he wasn't quite sure where he was. "There's someone else?" he asked in a dazed voice.

"The man who donated your bone marrow is your brother, Sweetheart, and I was hoping..."

"Mom?" Blair stopped her, his voice sounding scared. "I don't want to hear any more." He reached for Jim with his other hand. "Is that okay?" he asked.

Jim cast Naomi a sympathetic glance before gathering the younger man close. "That's okay," he said softly, asking Naomi with his eyes to let his words be true.

"Blair, you know there's nothing we can't talk about," Naomi said hopefully.

Blair fearfully shook his head, searching Jim's eyes for safety. "No," he whispered. "I don't want to. I don't have to right? Right?"

Naomi backed away from the bed, her horrified eyes locked with Blair's until her son buried his head on Jim's shoulder. "I don't want this," Blair whispered brokenly. "I don't want this. Make it go away. I'm the only one. There's nobody but me! I don't want this!" The words were uttered in a hushed, panicked whisper as the younger man began shuddering.

"It's okay, Blair," Jim whispered back. "Calm down, now. Everything's okay."

"It's not okay!" Blair cried. "It'll never be okay! It was supposed to be fixed now! Everything's supposed to be right and now it's ruined!"

Naomi gasped and quickly left the room, while Jim continued to rock his lover and whisper promises in his ear.

"Everything _is_ okay, Sweetheart. You'll see. Everything's going to be fine."

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I have a brother. I have a brother and that's who donated the bone marrow. I have a brother, and his bone marrow is in me.

If I say it often enough, maybe it will stop sounding like the most bizarre thing in the universe to me.

I thought the bone marrow transplant would take care of everything, and Jim and I would get our happily ever after. End of story. 

I don't want this. 

How could Naomi have another kid? That's what I keep thinking. Not how could she keep it from me, but how could she do it at all. I thought there was only me. 

I don't want to know about it. I want to pretend there's only me. I know that's awful. I know I'm awful. This total stranger gave me the gift of life, and all I can do is wish he'd never been born. 

* * *

"You must think I'm pretty shitty, right?" Blair asked over breakfast the next morning.

Jim lightly smacked the hand that was pushing the food around on his tray. "Eat that," he ordered. "No, I don't think you're shitty. I think you're overwhelmed."

Blair wrinkled his nose, but under Jim's glare, ate a spoonful of oatmeal. "You would've handled it perfectly," he said resentfully. "Probably wouldn't have even phased you, right?"

Jim dubiously lifted an eyebrow, wondering how it was this amazingly observant kid with a photographic memory could be so very blind to him. He smiled at the lick of warmth the thought provoked. "Right, Sandburg," he said with a snort. "I didn't speak to my brother for 15 years because of something he did when he was a kid. We both know how perfectly _I_ would've handled something like this." "I wish I was like you," Blair said.

"Crabby, judgmental, selfish, anal?" Jim ticked off adjectives for Blair to choose from, grinning when Blair wrinkled his nose again. 

"Strong, confident...sane."

Jim laughed and kissed Blair's forehead. "Thank God you've only been half-conscious the last few months," he joked. "One look at the real me and you'd be out the door."

"Never," Blair said and the conviction in his voice fed that warmth in Jim's belly.

Jim's features softened as he laced his fingers through Blair's. "It's okay to have a tough time with this," he said. "Just don't shut Naomi out, Blair. That's the way I would have handled it. You know that's true--that's the way I handled things with Stephen, and it cost me 15 years."

"I thought I was the only one," Blair said wistfully.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

I keep reading yesterday's entry over and over again, amazed that I could write something so selfish. This is the closest I've ever come to actually tearing out an entry and just pretending I never made it.

Jim never reads this without me around, though I've told him before I don't mind. He once asked if knowing he was periodically reading the journal didn't color what I wrote in it. I said no, pretty adamantly as I recall. I'm an anthropologist, after all. I think I'm leaving yesterday's entry just to prove to myself that what I told Jim was the truth.

I'm processing the stuff about Naomi having another kid. We talked a little bit today. Nothing major, I'm not ready to hear names or anything. Naomi was only 19 when she had him. I asked her if the father was nice to her, and I think we were both remembering that asshole Charles. She kissed my hand--she was holding it so tightly, I was a little concerned gangrene might set in- -she kissed my hand and said that he wasn't a bad guy. Kind of damning him with faint praise, but that's better than her saying he was a creep.

I can't bring myself to ask her if she's talked to him. The...her son, I mean. I'm not ready to hear that either. I feel really bad for her though, like this major ache somewhere deep inside me, to know she carried around this secret for so long. I know my mom, and whatever the circumstances were, leaving that kid behind had to of nearly killed her.

And I'm the one she kept. No matter who the other one's parents are, no matter how rich he is or what kind of life he's had, I'm the lucky one.

I told Mom I was sorry for freaking out on her, and she just laughed. And then I told her I loved her, and she cried. I told her she was spending _way_ too much time with Jim and then she laughed again. We're okay. We will be.

* * *

Jim still dropped by every morning before going to work. Blair was always awake and waiting for him and had yet to suggest Jim stop, so he didn't.

"How are you?" Jim asked, setting a newspaper and a bagel from the bakery on Blair's bedside table.

Blair craned his neck expectantly and grinned when Jim heartily kissed him good morning. "I'm good," Blair said, digging into his breakfast. "I'd be better if you brought me some coffee, though."

"Next week," Jim said. "Caffeine's still a no-no, and you won't drink the decaff."

"Sacrilege!" Blair said with a mock shudder of revulsion. "I'd rather eat oatmeal!"

Jim grinned and shook his head. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked, picking up the menu a hospital orderly dropped off every morning.

Blair ignored the question, instead, reaching out and rubbing his hand along Jim's forearm as he chewed his bagel.

Jim found a pencil on the bedside table and circled the chicken, flashing the menu at the kid so he could see what he'd picked out. 

Blair smiled at him, so sweet and genuine, every other thought was completely eclipsed in Jim's brain by the need to hug the younger man as tightly as he dared.

Later though, driving to work, the scene gnawed at Jim. It had been nearly four weeks since the transplant, and Blair was still deferring to him. Or was he? Was it Blair yielding to him or was it him dominating the younger man. Forcing his stronger will upon a kid still shocked to find himself among the living.

It didn't worry Jim in the least, and that...worried him. He knew he should offer the kid a little push to get him standing on his own two feet again, but Jim found himself holding on so tight, he had no free hands with which to push him.

Naomi had mentioned something to him a few times, gentle suggestions that maybe it was time for Blair to start making his own decisions, maybe Jim should ease off and give him some space, that kind of thing.

Jim had, perhaps unkindly, chalked up Naomi's attitude to some jealousy that, in the wake of the revelation about Blair's brother, the kid had withdrawn from Naomi and retreated into Jim. 

That wasn't entirely accurate now, Jim realized that. But he just couldn't recognize their situation as a problem, per se. And maybe, just maybe, that was a problem.

Then again, maybe Blair finally understood that Jim _had_ to protect him. Had to keep him safe. Keep him well. Maybe Blair finally got it and wasn't going to fight his lover's overprotective nature any more.

Jim sighed and gave himself a few points for having the decency to feel ashamed at the pleasure that sliced through his body at the very idea.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

My platelets are at 80,000 and the doctor cleared me to go home! Home. Jim's so excited it totally cracks me up. He is, like, the total definition of 'beside himself.' He's going in 10,000 different directions at once, working on twice that many thoughts in his head. Simon says he's turning into _me,_ and if that isn't enough to scare the pants of everybody he doesn't know what is. Jim's the happiest I've ever seen him. He looks...beautiful. Alive. Like every breath, every step, every blink of his eye is better and more fulfilling than the last. How odd it is to be such an integral part of someone else's existence. How great and terrifying all at once. I'm not sure I understood the responsibility before now. I'm going to take it seriously though, this interdependence. Jim deserves my solemnity about it. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time. He seems so unreal to me lately, as if everything about him is something I made up to fulfill every childhood, adolescent and adult fantasy I've ever had. The way he looks, the way he speaks, the way he touches me. It's all so out of this world, I have a hard time believing it's real. Believing he's real.

Last night we were laying together on the bed, watching TV. My head was on his chest and I was listening to his heartbeat. He was petting my head and for some reason I looked up at him and he smiled and said, "Alpha and omega, Baby." And then he kissed me and turned back to the television like it was nothing.

He's totally larger than life right now, which is great because life is, like, totally larger than me. 

I'm relieved and excited to be going home, no doubt about that, but I'm also scared out of my fucking mind, which is totally crazy because I hate it here, right? I thought I did, but all of a sudden the thought of going home, of not having the security of the hospital, is freaking me out, man.

I read up on all this stuff before the transplant, about the emotional aftermath and all that, kind of with a superior air, I guess. I didn't think it would lay me out like this, not the mental side of it. I was talking with some of the nurses, and they were saying how it's not just the transplant, but the entire experience and having to try to reconcile yourself to all this crap beyond your control and how spending so much time preparing to die, you kind of get out of the habit of living. 

That's close to how I feel--like my life's totally been on hold the last few months, but now that it's right here in front of me, ready to be reclaimed, I can't seem to do it. I'm, like, incapable of making a decision, here. It's worse than right after I was diagnosed. Someone asks me if I want the bed raised a few inches, and if Mom or Jim aren't around, I go into panic mode. I think it worries Mom, but not Jim so much. Kind of like second nature for him to step in, I guess. I'm trying to sort of keep a lid on it with Mom--I mean, jeez, on top of everything else, now I'm going to make her worry about this? 

But I can totally relax with Jim. I can just kind of coast, you know? He'll take care of everything. He won't even _think_ about it. Won't judge me or worry about me or wonder what the fuck's my problem. He'll just...take care of it. Take care of me. I need that right now. Hey, maybe we both do.

And just to prove that I _am_ aware that there's a world out there that revolves around something other than me...

Darryl hit a two-run homer in his last baseball game. Won the game for them. They gave him the game ball, and when he came to visit, he gave it to me. Said if I couldn't come to the game, he'd bring some of the game to me. I almost lost it, but it would have embarrassed the kid, so I kept it in. Jim had to excuse himself from the room, which made Darryl and I crack up. I told Darryl I'm going to be at one of his games this season. I will be, too.

Simon's not taking the job in Chicago. I totally respect the man for that. He _really_ wanted that job, but it wasn't the right time to be leaving Darryl. I'd like to think I'd have that kind of integrity if it ever came down to choosing between my job or my family. I said as much to Jim, and he kind of coughed and said I already did. I didn't get what he was talking about until he said, "You know, Borneo?" But that was just a year of my life and maybe a little prestige that I gave up. What Simon did was _major._ Jim said he's sure to be recruited for another position. Darryl's only got two more years until college, so I wouldn't be surprised if Simon doesn't take the next opportunity offered. Cascade better get off its ass and see about keeping the man.

* * *

Jim felt like a little kid at Christmas as he waited for Blair to sign the last of the release forms. There were last minute instructions from the nurse, and an interminable delay of at least five minutes while they waited for the orderly to show up with the wheelchair. 

Blair grinned at Jim and shook his head. Well, his _eyes_ grinned. He was wearing a mask over his nose and mouth to guard against germs, but Jim knew he was smiling underneath it.

Blair was pretty much homebound for the next month or two, places like the university and the precinct off limits until his immune system was functioning better. But that was just as well for now. Jim wasn't sure he could handle letting Blair out in the world so soon after almost losing him, and he had a pretty good idea that Blair wasn't all that interested in being out in the world anyway. Sometimes, Jim didn't think Blair was all that interested in coming home. Jim's excitement knew no bounds, but Blair's was tempered with more than a little trepidation.

"What if something happens?" he worriedly asked Jim, and the nurses and the doctors and his mother. "What if...what if I'm at home and something goes wrong?"

He would be returning to the hospital once a week for the first six to eight weeks after he was released. His doctor assured him they would catch any infection or problem. The nurses reminded him he could return to the hospital whenever he thought it necessary. Naomi told him he would be fine, that he was stronger than he knew and she had faith in him. 

And Jim simply promised that he would take care of everything.

"Man, you are _hyped!_ " Blair said, pulling the mask away so Jim could understand him.

Jim gently set the mask back in place. "Do you blame me?" he innocently asked. "I'm finally gonna get a home-cooked meal that's more than just birdseed on a plate."

"Hey!" Naomi said. "Just yesterday, you polished off a three bean casserole that's supposed to feed _eight._ "

Jim grinned. "Simon was there, too. And he was trying to impress you, so he ate about three-fourths of it!"

"Simon wasn't there when you ate an entire casserole pan of vegetarian lasagna," Naomi pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but that time _I_ was trying to impress you," he said with a smile.

"Hey, hey, hey!" objected Blair.

"I know, Chief, I know," Jim said. "That's your _mom._ "

The three of them bantered happily out to the car and back to the loft. Jim carried Blair's bag, while the younger man leaned heavily against his mom, slowly making his way inside. 

The loft sparkled--Jim's contribution, no doubt--and smelled of wild flowers and sage--Naomi's offering. Blair smiled and must have felt the pull of the mask. He took it off and laid it on the island in the kitchen, still inspecting the place as if he were a potential buyer who'd never been there before. 

The big screen TV in the family room surprised him. Jim hadn't mentioned buying it, and neither he nor Jim were big TV watchers, save a good documentary or a Jags game. "Been bored, Big Guy?" he asked.

Jim grinned, all excited little boy again, and Blair couldn't help but laugh out loud at the sight. "Okay, okay, sit down, there you go, on the couch," Jim said, ushering Blair over and pushing him to the cushions. He flipped on the television and bounced on his heels waiting for the picture to come on.

It looked like a home video of some kind. Blair leaned around Jim to try and see, but Jim turned, beaming at him with pride. "Elizabeth Mitchell helped me set this up," he said, then stepped to the side so Blair could see the screen.

A banner that read "WELCOME HOME, BLAIR!" came into focus, then the camera panned back to show over a hundred people crowded around the sign. 

Blair grinned, amazed. "When was the party?" he asked.

"Now!" Naomi said, laughing at Blair's expression.

"It's a live feed!" Jim explained. He picked up a camera sitting behind the couch and flipped on a switch and pointed it at Blair. The heads on the screen all turned to look at what was most likely a monitor and a loud cheer went up.

"Welcome home, Blair!" the crowd shouted, echoing the words on the banner.

Blair laughed, eyes sparkling, and waved at the crowd.

"Say something, Chief!" Jim instructed. "They can hear you."

"Jeez, guys, would it have killed you to wait until _I_ could party, too?" Blair asked, and another roar went up. He beamed at Jim, still holding the camera, then at his mother across the room, but he seemed at a loss as to what to do next. 

Jim set the camera on a tripod and aimed the camera at the couch. He knelt down beside Blair. "You up to accepting some well wishes?" he asked quietly, gently petting Blair's thigh. Blair nodded, but didn't take his eyes off Jim. The detective chuckled. "I'm going to get us some party food, Baby," he said, then pointed at the camera. "Knock yourself out." 

Jim cupped Blair's face and winked at him. Blair watched him go, jumping when Darryl's voice suddenly resounded through the room. "Yo, Blair, dude! Whass'up?"

Blair laughed. "Hey it's Ken Griffey Junior Junior!" Blair called, waving at the camera.

Jim traded an ecstatic smile with Naomi as he took the plate she offered him, and he went to sit down next to Blair.

"So, like, when can people come over, Blair?" Darryl was asking. 

Blair's eyes slid almost involuntarily over to Jim, who was studiously balancing his plate on his knee so he could drink his beer. Blair's hand found his forearm and rested there, his gaze expectant. 

"Mmm, we need a good four weeks, and then we can start having people here to the loft. Be a bit after that before Blair can venture out and about."

It had become so natural for both of them to have Jim speak for Blair that neither one of them really noticed it anymore. When someone asked Blair a question, Blair turned to Jim with an expectant look on his face, as if he was as interested in what the answer might be as the person asking the question.

About an hour into the party, Blair was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He was having some trouble following the conversation across the television wires and kept looking to Jim to explain not only what people were saying, but who exactly they were.

"You ready to call it a night?" Jim asked, not really waiting for an answer.

Blair shrugged and looked embarrassed

"All right guys, we're heading out!" Jim called. He gave the people at the party a moment to gather close to the camera again, and make their farewells. There were shouts for Blair to call, promises to see him when Officer Ellison eased up on the visitation rules, many, many well wishes.

Blair waited patiently while Jim signed off for them both, then took the detectives outstretched hand and headed for the stairs. He kissed his mother goodnight, then leaned heavily on Jim as they made their way upstairs.

At the head of the stairs Blair stopped with a sudden intake of air. "Home," he whispered to Jim.

Jim smiled and nodded his agreement. "Now it is," he said, kissing Blair's head. Blair fell rather heavily to the bed when Jim released the hold he had on him. He was more asleep than awake as Jim undressed him and settled him under the covers.

"Home," Blair mumbled in his sleep.

"Now it is," Jim whispered again. 

"Thanks for today," Blair mumbled sleepily. "All the people...it was nice..."

Jim smiled tenderly. "Shh, Sweetheart, go to sleep," he said. 

It was a little too early for Jim to go to bed. Once sure Blair was asleep, Jim went downstairs and packed up the video equipment, then helped Naomi straighten up the kitchen. Afterward, they sat in companionable silence in the living room, Naomi reading a book, and Jim pretending to. Really he was just listening to the comforting sounds of Blair's breathing.

And later that night, Jim crawled into bed with his sleeping lover, and expertly arranged the slight body on top of his, making sure the younger man was duly covered.

And for once it was joy and not despair that kept Jim awake all night, softly stroking the smooth skin of his lover's back, and grinning to himself that is was finally, finally 'after.'

* * *

[Epilogue]

[Four Months Later]

Jim swung the truck onto a dirt road, hidden from the main highway by trees and shrubs. Out of habit, he turned a concerned eye to Blair, making sure the jostling of the truck didn't bother him. Blair was watching the scenery, fairly bouncing with anticipation. "I always think of September as my new year," Blair said, taking a deep breath, as if he could smell the change of season in the air.

Jim smiled at the thought, pleased beyond all measure that Blair could now confidently look ahead to the future. It had been four months since the bone marrow transplant. Life was not back to normal--well, what _they_ considered normal, but they were making strides. Even though he was still painfully thin, Blair's energy level was starting to return, and every day brought him closer and closer to the robust good health he'd always enjoyed before. 

The emotional lethargy left in the wake of the bone marrow transplant and the ordeal leading up to it still hung heavy on the younger man. There was a sense of ambivalence about Blair that had never been there before, a tentativeness, as if he wasn't ready to invest himself yet, lest this remission prove as transitory as the last.

He still deferred to Jim in almost everything, the new dynamic so comfortable to him, he rarely noticed the shock and surprise it engendered in those around him when he so easily complied with one of the detective's decrees or expectantly waited for Jim to field a question aimed at him. 

Jim knew people thought it odd or at the very least out of character for the younger man, and he resented that. Blair had almost died for God's sake. He'd stood at that precipice not for a minute, not for the flash of a car accident or a plane crash, but for month after endless month. If it took him awhile to get back on his own two feet, so be it. 

If picking out loaf bread at the supermarket gave the kid a panic attack, then he just didn't have to go to the supermarket, now did he? Jim could steer the boat on his own for a little while longer. What would it hurt?

Jim knew he should be firmer with Blair, knew he indulged the younger man more than he should, but he was powerless against that endearing smile and those pretty blue eyes, and couldn't bring himself to even suggest that Blair do something he didn't want to do. Even if it was for the kid's own good.

"I'm going to finish my dissertation this year," Blair said, and Jim wasn't sure if Blair was stating a goal or a fact. "Five, six months from now, you'll be addressing me as Dr. Sandburg."

Jim grinned. "All right then, Chief," he agreed. "But only in bed."

Blair laughed and squeezed Jim's hand. "Then you'll take the Captain's exam, and I'll have to call you Captain." 

Jim shrugged and nodded knowingly. Blair _was_ back if it meant he was starting in on the career counseling again. "How can I defend the tribe if I'm chained behind a desk?" Jim asked, as usual.

"You'll be a different kind of captain," Blair said confidently. "Special, you know? There'll be different rules for you."

Jim grinned at that unwavering faith. He thought the last two years would have made Blair more cynical, but the miracle of his recovery had reawakened in him that genuine sense of delight at the complexities and mysteries of every day life. And Jim was infinitely thankful that he got to witness it every day.

Blair's hand was absentmindedly caressing Jim's thigh. Jim caught it and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.

A half hour later, he pulled the truck off the dirt road and came to a stop.

Jim jumped out of the truck and walked around to Blair's side. He pushed his lover against the door and started unbuttoning Blair's shirt. "Jim, what are you doing?" Blair asked, as Jim removed his flannel shirt, and in one, swift movement took his undershirt off as well. 

"See there, Chief? Proof positive you don't listen to me when I talk. What did I tell you was going to happen this weekend?"

A slow grin spread across Blair's face. "I remember sex," he said brightly. "I know you talked about sex."

One-handed, Jim unfastened Blair's button fly jeans and steadied the younger man as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the jeans. Jim casually leaned against the side of the truck. "Off they go," he said, nodding at Blair's boxers.

Blair started laughing. "Oh come on, man! You're not serious."

"Sandburg! The boxers. Now."

"Just my luck," Blair grumbled, slipping the underwear off and slapping it into Jim's outstretched hand. "Stuck in the middle of nowhere with Neanderthal Man." He put his hands on his hips, eyes widened in that way of his that asked, 'Well? Now what?'

A small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Jim lazed against the truck, enjoying the defiance of Blair's body language. Head cocked slightly to one side, Jim's eyes slid up and down his lover's gleaming body. He pushed himself off the truck and made a slow tour all the way around Blair, eyes raking him from head to toe.

He carelessly threw Blair's clothing into the back of the truck, then picked up a sleeping bag and tucked it under one arm. "I'll let you keep the socks," he said to Blair with a wink. Standing in front of the younger man, Jim bent at the knees, slid his free arm around Blair's waist and effortlessly tossed the man over his shoulder.

With a shout of laughter, Blair wiggled against his big lover. "Okay, Tarzan," he said resignedly. "I give up!"

Walking a ways into the forest, Jim eventually came to a clearing where he tossed the sleeping bag on the ground and kicked it open. Sweetly kissing Blair's soft ass, he knelt down and gently placed the younger man on top of the bag. "Socks," Jim ordered, holding out his hand again.

Still laughing, Blair shook his head. "I thought I got to keep the socks."

"Socks!" Jim insisted.

"Man, you're gonna be down to monosyllabic grunts by the time we're done here," Blair said.

Jim grinned. "If we're lucky anyway," he said, tucking Blair's socks into his pocket. "You'll get those on an as needed basis," he said. "Bathroom breaks. Things like that." Jim leaned in and kissed Blair, intending only a quick peck, but Blair slid his hand up behind his head and soundly pressed Jim's lips to his. Opening his mouth wide, Blair enticed Jim's tongue into his mouth, sucking on it as he reclined back on the sleeping bag and pulled Jim down on top of him. "Oh, yeah," Jim sighed, hot breath wafting across Blair's face. 

Feeling the surge of an erection against his thigh, Jim quickly scrambled off his lover and devoured his hardening penis. Blair's back arched as he almost immediately ejaculated. Jim swallowed, hands soothing Blair before he could lament his premature release. "Oh that's great, Baby, you taste so good, you make me feel so good," he whispered, kissing thighs, nuzzling in the fine pubic hair, tongue sweeping across Blair's soft belly. He climbed back on top of the younger man, and kissed his way up to Blair's mouth. "I love you so much, Blair."

"Love you, too," Blair whispered. They necked, passion escalating between them once more, but when Blair started to undo Jim's pants, the detective rolled over and stood up. "Come on, man!" Blair panted.

Breathing heavy himself, Jim wiped his arm across his kiss swollen lips. "I've gotta make camp before the sun goes down," he said.

Blair grinned saucily and nodded at Jim's obviously tenting slacks. "But I've gotta _make_ before _that_ goes down!" he said.

Jim laughed, taking off his T-shirt and tossing it at Blair. "Baby, you don't have worry about that for the next sixty years or so," he said. "Now I want you to lie there in the sunshine and make me so hot for you, we fool the whole damn forest into thinking it's summer all over again."

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Jim and I are finally taking that camping trip. The weather is unbelievable--miles and miles of clear blue skies, not a cloud anywhere. It's just like Jim promised it would be. Swear to God, there's a part of me that believes he's responsible for it--for the perfect weather, for the incredible scenery, the unbelievably clean air.

Right now I'm just sitting here--bare ass naked, mind you-- watching Jim put up the tent. He's not wearing a shirt, and his pecs are dancing as he drives the stakes into the ground... 

This is our last free weekend for awhile. Ryf's getting married next Saturday, school starts the week after that, Jim and Steven are taking a road trip some time soon. Life, going on, as per usual. Totally ordinary, and all the more remarkable because of it. 

Jim's sweating--I can see the droplets of perspiration rolling down his back. Man, what a fucking Adonis. He is so ripped right now. For a guy who keeps going on about how unimportant the package is, I sure do spend an awful lot of time admiring Jim's...package. Who wouldn't, man? I'm only human, for pete's sake!

Jim looked over at me and smirked when he realized I had the journal with me. He either begrudges the attention it takes away from him or the fact that it's covering up my dick and interfering with his view. Probably a little of both. In a minute, he's going to come over here and snatch this out of my hands. Guess it'll go the way of my socks....

* * *

Jim brushed the dirt from his hands on his jeans and stood up, stretching his back and feeling the muscles ripple beneath his skin. He turned to see what effect he was having on his lover and grimaced. That damn journal. Always with that damn journal. _Sorry, Sandburg,_ he thought with inward amusement. _This weekend is about me and only me. Your Neanderthal man isn't taking a back seat to **anything** for the next 48 hours._

Jim stalked over to the younger man and seized the journal with one hand and Blair's pen with the other. "Even when you're not talking, you talk too much," he said. He tucked the pen inside the notebook and tossed it over his shoulder.

Blair laughed and leaned back on his elbows, legs spread, the sun showcasing his penis nestled in a patch of downy pubic hair. Jim kicked off the rest of his clothes and straddled Blair, casting a mammoth shadow over him. Blair shivered, only partly from loss of the sun's warmth. Jim's imposing erection wept some pre-cum and splashed on to Blair's leg. 

"You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen," Blair said, sounding surprised, like he just realized that fact.

"That's how you make me feel," Jim said, his voice soft and husky. He slowly knelt down, one knee on either side of Blair's thighs. 

"That's how you _are,_ " Blair replied.

Jim shook head. "No, Baby," he corrected. "That's how you make me." 

"I love you," Blair said breathlessly, just as Jim leaned forward and kissed him.

Jim nudged Blair onto his back, then over onto his side, leaving no doubt as to how he would answer the younger man's pledge. Seconds later, he was buried deep inside his lover, sighing in pleasure at the rightness of where he found himself. "Oh yeah, this is where I belong, lover," he huffed. "This is home. I could hide inside you forever. You feel so good wrapped around me, Baby. You make me feel so good. Love you so much. Oh God, I love you so much."

"Now who talks too much," Blair teased, groaning when Jim punished him with a particularly forceful thrust upward and inward. 

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Jim whispered, lacing his fingers through Blair's. "You waltz through this world oblivious to the hold you have over me."

"Show me," Blair whispered, moaning long and low at Jim's excited lunge. "Make me understand."

So Jim did.

* * *

Excerpt from Blair's Journal:

Jim's asleep right now--the only reason I'm able to take pen in hand. Actually, it's kind of a miracle I'm awake. I am so thoroughly fucked right now, I shouldn't even have the muscle control necessary to write, much less the brain power necessary to put words to paper. Thoroughly fucked. God, doesn't that sound awesome? Feels awesome.

We haven't been doing this part of it for long. Jim says he feels selfish because I can't reciprocate. Anal penetration is totally out of the question until I can hold an erection. When I do get an erection I almost always ejaculate prematurely. I guess that'll start bothering me more and more, but right now it seems like such an insignificant thing to worry about. I don't think Jim has any complaints, and you won't be hearing any out of me for awhile.

I ache in places I didn't know I had. Jim crawled so far up inside me, I thought he'd never come back out. Part of me was wishing he wouldn't. I'd love it if I could keep some part of him inside me forever. Sometimes, I imagine that's what I'm doing when I'm swallowing his cum, or it's burning inside my ass. It would be so cool if it could happen... I'm sure somewhere there's a ceremony that mimics that idea. I just need to narrow down the historic...

* * *

"Sandburg," came a sleepy voice that still held plenty of warning. "I'll throw that damn thing in the fire if I have to."

"Hey, I'm writing about you," Blair said, but closed the notebook and set it aside, letting Jim fold his arms around him and pull him close.

"You pay attention to me and only me this weekend," Jim reminded him. "Monday morning you can record to your little anthropologist heart's delight. This weekend you are _all_ mine."

"Mmm, I like that," Blair said lazily.

"Mmm, I like _you,_ " teased Jim.

Blair turned in Jim's arm so he was facing the older man. He lifted his face, parted his lips and smiled when Jim reflexively answered his unspoken request. Their tongues wrestled playfully until Blair caught Jim's and delicately sucked on the tip. Blair's hand skimmed down Jim's side, over his hip and thigh, down to cup his testicles. "Show me," Blair whispered, eyes blazing into Jim's. 

Jim smiled. And did.

[The End, for now]


End file.
